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WANDERING     THOUGHTS 


AND 


WANDERING    STEPS. 


WANDERING  THOUGHTS 


AND 


WANDERING  STEPS. 

BY 

A  PHILADELPHIA  LADY. 


"  Go,  little  book,  from  this  my  solitude  ! 

I  cast  thee  on  the  waters, — go  thy  ways ! 
And  if,  as  I  believe,  thy  vein  be  good," 
A  few  "  will  find  thee  after  many  days." 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT    &    CO. 
1880. 


Copyright,  1880,  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co. 


PREFACE. 


Far  away  toward  the  rising  sun  is  our  Mecca,  the 
Old  World.  Toward  its  shrines,  pilgrim-like,  our 
steps  wander.  We  put  on  our  sandals,  prepare  our 
scrip,  take  up  our  staff,  and  turn  to  seek  a  companion 
with  whom  to  cull  sweet  flowers  by  the  wayside,  and 
to  chat  on  subjects  "  grave  and  gay,  pleasant  and  se- 


vere." 


Will  you,  kind  reader,  be  our  companion  while  we 
thus  beguile  the  way  and  peep — only  peep — into  a  few 
interesting  places  ?  If  so,  wmen  arrayed  in  a  vesture 
of  that  gentle  "charity  which  believeth  all  things, 
hopeth  all  things,"  and  forgiveth  all  imperfections,  we 
shall  recognize  in  you  the  sympathetic  friend  and 
reader  whom  we  seek. 

Our  first  literary  venture  is  a  very  modest  one.  We 
launch  our  little  bark  on  the  tide  of  public  opinion, 

5 


6  PREFACE. 

conscious  that  it  will  be  buffeted  by  many  waves,  but 
trusting  that  it  will  not  be  utterly  wrecked  through 
harsh  criticism. 

"  Be  to  its  virtues  very  kind, 
Be  to  its  faults  a  little  blind." 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CHAPTEE    I. 

Paris — Versailles  .         .         .         . 9 

CHAPTER    II. 
Nice — Genoa 32 

CHAPTEE    III. 
Pisa — Florence 47 

CHAPTEE    IV. 
Eome .61 

CHAPTEE    V. 

Naples — Pompeii— Vesuvius — Psestuni        .         .         .         .80 

CHAPTEE    VI. 
Venice 97 

CHAPTEE    VII. 
Milan — Lake  Como       .         .         .         •      '  •         •         •  109 

CHAPTEE    VIII. 
Switzerland l^2 

CHAPTEE    IX. 

Chamouni — Geneva — Chillon       .         .         •         •         •         .134 

CHAPTEE    X. 

Lausanne— Freyburg— Lucerne— Lake  Thun— Interlachen     149 

7 


8  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEE    XL  PAGE 

Munich — Carlsbad 168 

CHAPTEK    XII. 

Berlin — Potsdam — Nuremberg    .         .         .         .         ,         .     178 

CHAPTEE    XIII. 

Heidelberg — Frankfort 197 

CHAPTEE    XIV. 
Baden-Baden — Cologne        .         . 207 

CHAPTEE]  XV. 

London — Spurgeon — Hampton  Court .....     225 

CHAPTEE    XVI. 

Windsor  Castle — Stoke-Pogis — The  Dairyman's  Daughter  .     240 

CHAPTEE    XVII. 

Oxford — Kenilworth — Haddon  Hall — Chatsworth       .         .     249 

CHAPTEE    XVIII. 

Stratford-on-Avon .         .         .264 

CHAPTEE    XIX. 

Chester — The  Lake  Eegion — A  Eemarkable  Drive      .         .     276 

CHAPTEE    XX. 

Edinburgh — The  Trosachs — Scottish  Lakes — Glasgow        .     287 

CHAPTEE    XXI. 

Abbotsford — Melrose  Abbey — Carlisle  ....     300 

CHAPTEE    XXII. 

Homeward  Bound — Our  Ship — The  Voyage        .         .         .     311 


WANDERING  THOUGHTS  AND  WAN 
DERING  STEPS. 


CHAPTER    I. 
PARIS— VERSAILLES. 

PARIS. 

We  consider  it  a  happy  fact  that  our  first  introduc- 
tion to  Paris  is  by  gaslight;  for  so  dazzlingly  brilliant 
are  the  scenes  that  meet  our  delighted  gaze  as  we  ride 
through  the  grand  boulevards,  that  we  think  their 
splendors  must  pale  under  the  light  of  a  mid-day  sun ; 
probably  remembering  that  those  physical  charms  that 
are  often  bewildering  under  the  gaslit  chandelier  wane 
under  the  prosaic,  disenchanting  light  of  day.  Of  no 
luxury  is  Paris  more  prodigal  than  that  of  gas ;  the 
streets  at  night  are  ablaze  with  it,  and  when  the  hun- 
dreds of  jets  are  arranged,  as  on  the  Champs  Elys6es, 
in  fanciful  designs,  the  effect  is  resplendent  beyond 
description;  we  need  not  look  up  into  the  firmament 
above,  for  stars  of  scintillating  ray  are  shining  around 

2  9 


10  WANDERING  THOUGHTS. 

us,  making  the  air  quivering  and  bright  with  their 
twinkling  light. 

The  boulevards  are  swarming  with  the  most  animated 
life;  for  French  life  is  an  out-door  one,  and  it  is  here 
that  the  cream  of  society  floats  on  the  surface,  while 
the  less  attractive  phase  of  human  existence  is  so  far 
below  that  one  seldom  meets  with  it.  We  think  that 
the  distinguishing  peculiarity  of  Paris  street-life  is  that 
nothing  repulsive  ever  obtrudes  itself;  all  is  glamour, 
brightness,  and  exuberance,  with  no  suggestion  of  sick- 
ness, cloud,  sorrow,  or  death. 

As  we  ride  through  boulevards,  each  of  marvellous 
width,  allowing  "ample  room  and  verge  enough"  for 
the  gay,  good-humored  crowds,  numberless  concert- 
gardens  glittering  with  illuminated  lights;  "the  night 
filled  with  music;"  laughter  refined,  often  feminine, 
mingling  joyously  on  the  air;  the  hundreds  of  seats 
on  the  broad  avenue  filled  with  elegance  and  fashion ; 
military  accoutrements  flashing  in  the  light;  clashing 
swords  giving  a  martial  ring  to  the  gay  sounds,  we 
repeat  our  felicitations  that  this  brilliant  phase  of 
human  life — the  brightest  we  have  ever  seen — should 
be  our  introductory  experience  to  this,  the  most  bril- 
liant city  of  the  world.  Imagining  that  the  next  morn- 
ing the  streets,  like  deserted  banqueting  halls,  will 
show  only  the  traces  of  a  past  revelry,  seeming  in  the 
whitish  glare  of  day  comparatively  unattractive. 


PARIS.  11 

A  cup  of  nectar,  as  we  think,  but  called  by  the 
ordinary  name  of  coffee ;  rolls,  white,  crisp,  and  tooth- 
some, with  tiny  moulds  of  unsalted  butter,  form  the 
dainty  repast  brought  to  our  room  next  morning. 
A  leisurely,  luxurious  toilet,  a  wandering  through 
the  salons,  and  we  are  summoned  to  the  eleven  o'clock 
French  breakfast,  dejeuner  a  la  fourchette,  after  which 
our  first  day  in  Paris 'begins. 

We  feel  sure  that  the  sun  loves  Paris;  it  seems 
always  to  hover  in  its  sky,  shedding  upon  the  glorious 
city  its  most  beaming  rays.  On  one  of  the  brightest 
of  days  we  take  a  carriage  and  give  ourselves  up  to 
enjoyment,  for  this  is  a  lesson  quickly  learned  of  the 
people.  We  have  no  recollection  of  any  experience 
more  delightsome  than  a  ride  through  the  boulevards 
of  Paris.  Their  surface  being  as  smooth  as  glass,  one 
is  never  rocked  or  jostled,  but  borne  on  gently  and 
swiftly  through  scenes  fascinatingly  animated  and 
bright.  As  we  glide  by  stores,  magnificent  in  display 
and  decoration ;  buildings  suggestive  of  affluence,  gran- 
deur, and  old-time  royalty ;  fashion  rampant ;  women 
piquant  and  sparkling ;  men  the  pink  of  elegance  and 
the  very  synonyme  of  polish  and  grace ;  fountains 
whose  waters  seem  to  shower  diamonds ;  statues  world- 
famed;  towers  and  monuments  of  rare  historic  inter- 
est, and  parterres  gleaming  on  every  side  with  a 
luxuriant   growth   of    shrubs   and   flowers ;    the   air, 


12  WANDERING  THOUGHTS. 

mellowed  by  a  grateful  warmth,  seeming  perfumed 
in  its  deliciousness ;  music  floating  dreamily  on  the 
air,  we  feel  that  this  world  is  full  of  beauty,  joy,  and 
charm. 

The  Seine,  which  divides  the  city  into  two  parts,  is 
crossed  by  twenty-seven  bridges,  and  its  pretty  banks, 
as  we  approach  the  rural  suburbs  of  the  city,  during 
an  excursion  to  St.  Cloud,  form  a  most  picturesque 
feature.  Some  of  its  bridges  are  of  grand  construction, 
and  are  graced  with  fine  statuary. 

Passing  through  the  magnificent  Place  de  la  Con- 
corde, where  colossal  statues,  representing  the  principal 
cities  of  France,  surround  two  mammoth  fountains,  we 
enter  the  Champs  Elysees,  an  avenue  that  has  no 
rival  in  Europe  and  is  the  centre  of  the  social  world. 
It  presents  a  scene  gorgeous  and  dazzling ;  it  seems  to 
be  an  epitome  of  all  the  varied  delights  that  can  greet 
the  senses.  Many  beautiful  kiosks  and  chalets;  fanci- 
ful cafes  embowered  in  green  and  gay  with  music; 
sumptuous  equipages  in  showy  liveries  dashing  by 
the  grand  arch  which  crowns  the  summit;  equestrians 
superbly  mounted  ;  gay  crowds  composed  of  the  repre- 
sentatives of  every  nation,  it  would  seem,  Orientals 
often  in  their  national  garb ;  even  peasants  giving 
quaint  charm  to  the  picture  by  their  unique,  bright 
costume;  fountains  playing;  trees  o'ershadowing ; 
flowers  blooming;  men  wooing;  women  flirting;  na- 


PARIS.  13 

ture  and  mechanical  skill  contributing  from  their  deep- 
est resources  to  form  a  scene  of  perfect  beauty  and 
human  felicity.  Dull  care  is  exiled ;  ennui  unknown  ; 
poverty  a  stranger ;  and  the  thought  of  death  banished 
from  the  mind. 

We  cannot  imagine  a  scene  more  impregnated  with 
all  the  elements  of  joyous  life,  where  the  most  phleg- 
matic must  be  moved  to  vivacious  expression  and  the 
most  stolid  won  from  their  habitual  apathy.  Paris 
seems  to  be  the  city  counterpart  of  the  country  Eden 
of  our  first  parents,  offering  all  the  delights  possible  to 
a  town  residence. 

Beyond  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  lies  the  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne, witlHts  rural  attractions,  which,  however,  were 
much  despoiled  by  the  rude  touch  of  the  late  war. 
We  remember  with  pleasure  taking  this  famous  drive 
many  years  since,  when  royalty  gave  eclat  to  a  scene  as 
brilliant  as  the  human  imagination  could  conceive.  A 
coach  and  four,  with  outriders,  announced  the  fact  that 
the  emperor,  Napoleon  III.,  was  approaching.  There 
he  sat  impassive,  silent  and  self-absorbed,  accompanied 
by  several  august-looking  personages.  Catching  his  eye, 
we  bowed,  and  he,  probably  recognizing  the  courtesy 
as  from  those  whose  country  was  always  kindly  re- 
membered by  him,  doffed  his  hat  graciously  to  us.  It 
was  the  last  time  that  we  met  the  man  who,  then  at 
the  pinnacle  of  human  power  and  greatness,  was,  ere 


14  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

long,  to  die  in  ignominious  exile,  shorn  of  all  that  had 
made  life  to  him  a  brilliant  victory. 

Alas!  what  tragedies  do  human  experiences  often 
afford!  How  little  thought  she — Eugenie — whose 
queenly  appearance  suggested  the  title ;  whose  graceful 
form,  regal  air,  and  charming  beauty  so  well  became 
royal  attire  and  dignity,  that  before  a  decade  had  passed 
she  would  be  an  object  of  such  pitiable  commiseration 
as  to  win  tears  from  all  womanly  eyes ! 

At  the  hotels  and  in  most  of  the  stores  on  the  Con- 
tinent there  is  always  some  one  to  be  found  who  un- 
derstands and  can  speak  English,  but  the  drivers  are 
all  most  provokingly  tenacious  of  their  own  idiom, 
and  will  neither  understand  our  native  tongue  nor  its 
substitute, — pantomime.  There  are,  however,  so  many 
English  and  American  travellers  who  speak  French, 
that  there  is  almost  always  some  good  Samaritan 
among  them  who  will  step  forward  and  create  an 
understanding  between  perplexed  parties;  so  that  one 
does  not  often  experience  painfully  the  need  of  the 
accomplishment,  although  the  ability  to  speak  the 
French  is  convenient,  and  adds  materially  to  the 
pleasure  of  foreign  travel. 

The  experience  of  an  American  lady  whom  we  met 
in  Paris  is  a  representative  one,  and  we  will  endeavor 
to  "  tell  the  tale  as  'twas  told  to  us." 

Mrs.  C.  was  theoretically  acquainted  with  the  French 


PARIS.  15 

language,  but  had  never  been  made  familiar  with  its 
verbal  practice,  her  ear  and  tongue  being  alike  unedu- 
cated to  its  use.  Her  husband's  knowledge  consisted 
of  a  heterogeneous  collection  of  words  which  lacked 
linguistical  cement,  if  we  may  use  the  expression,  to 
connect  into  intelligible  sentences.  Imagine  the  pair, 
then,  during  their  first  afternoon  in  Paris,  as  having 
the  courage  to  enter  a  voiture,  utterly  unable  to  pro- 
nounce the  names  of  the  streets  in  a  comprehensible 
manner,  and  trusting  to  that  good  genius — luck — which 
had  so  far  befriended  them.  To  find  the  address  of  a 
certain  friend  was  their  first  object ;  congratulating 
themselves  upon  the  driver's  evident  understanding  of 
their  maiden  attempts  at  his  own  language,  they  gave 
themselves  up  to  an  enjoyment  of  the  fleeting  pano- 
rama as  they  drove  through  the  gorgeous  streets  of 
the  wonderful  city.  But,  unhappily,  their  pleasure 
was  soon  at  an  end :  the  carriage  halted  at  the  entrance 
to  a  mean  court,  and  Mr.  C.  jumping  boldly  out  and 
knocking  at  the  first  door,  was  met  by  a  bland,  smiling 
Frenchwoman  who,  alas !  could  not  understand  a  word 
of  his  query.  On  he  passed  from  door  to  door,  and 
before  many  moments  was  surrounded  by  vociferating 
women,  each  trying  to  explain  and  inquire,  until  he 
was  wellnigh  deafened  and  distracted  by  their  futile 
attempts  to  relieve  his  perplexity.  Mrs.  C.  rushed 
forward,  followed  by  the  driver,  only  increasing  the 


16  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

Babel  by  the  addition  of  their  tongues.  At  length, 
struck  by  a  happy  thought,  one  woman,  with  beaming 
face  and  earnest  gesture,  motioned  them  toward  a  door 
which  they  had  not  seen.  In  response  to  her  rap  a 
pleasant,  handsome  man  made  his  appearance,  who, 
upon  reading  the  ill-fated  address  on  the  card  they 
handed  him,  spoke  a  few  magic  words  to  the  puzzled 
driver,  and,  with  true  French  grace  and  politeness, 
with  many  a  smile  and  bow,  received  their  cordial 
thanks.  All  looked  relieved ;  the  crowd  dispersed  ; 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  C  re-entered  the  voiture  and  drove  oif 
with  lightened  hearts. 

Their  next  halt  was  at  the  desired  haven  ;  but  when 
that  business  was  accomplished  their  troubles  were  re- 
newed. Mrs.  C.  sat  in  the  voiture,  while  her  husband, 
facing  the  driver,  endeavored  by  pantomime  to  explain 
that  they  would  like  to  drive  up  and  down  the  splendid 
boulevards.  Giving  a  wide  sweep  with  his  hand,  he 
was  startled  to  find  it  had  come  into  contact  with  a 
man's  hat.  The  man,  a  peaceable  citizen  walking  the 
street,  was  staggered  by  the  blow,  which  had  wellnigh 
struck  him  in  the  face,  and  turning  to  inquire  angrily 
into  the  matter,  was  met  by  such  profuse  apologies 
from  the  driver,  who  sought  to  explain  the  inadvert- 
ence, and  by  such  gesticulations  of  regret  from  the 
unlucky  stranger,  that  his  rising  choler  was  appeased, 
and  he  passed  on.     Here  Mr.  C,  wellnigh  discouraged, 


PARIS.  17 

stood  with  corrugated  brow,  striving  to  root  out  from 
his  memory  the  desired  words  to  explain  his  wishes, 
when  suddenly  his  face  brightened  and  his  thought 
blossomed  into  the  words  "  Allez  a  les  belles  femmes," 
as  he  jumped  with  satisfied  air  into  the  voiture. 

This  was  more  than  Mrs.  C.?s  equanimity  could  bear, 
and,  catching  the  driver's  sympathizing  glance  at  her 
and  his  horrified  gaze  upon  her  husband,  she  hastily 
explained,  "  Non,  non,  il  veut  dire  les  beaux  magasins" 
and,  leaning  back  in  the  carriage,  yielded  to  a  hearty 
burst  of  laughter.  Up  scrambled  the  driver,  and, 
cracking  his  whip,  off  he  drove.  "  Do  you  suppose," 
said  Mrs.  C,  after  they  had  ridden  some  time,  "  that 
he  finally'understood  ?" 

"I  know  not,"  said  her  husband,  in  despairing 
tones.  "Let  him  take  us  where  he  will,  I  shall  not 
try  again  f  and,  applauding  the  wisdom  of  the  resolve, 
she  followed  his  example. 

A  prominent  and  popular  institution  in  Paris  is  its 
hotel-life,  delightfully  represented  in  "  The  Conti- 
nental," which  is  capable  of  accommodating  fifteen 
hundred  guests;  and  happy  guests  they  should  be,  with 
every  comfort  provided  and  luxuries  abounding.  Its 
banqueting-hall  of  mammoth  proportions  and  regal 
in  its  appointments  is  worthy  in  fresco,  carving,  archi- 
tectural  finish,  gorgeous  draperies,  paintings,  superb 

furniture,  and  crystal  to  be  famed  as  an  appropriate 

2* 


18  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

appendage  to  any  palace  in  Europe.  This  apartment 
is  reserved  for  unusual  occasions,  and  for  an  extra 
table-d'hote  on  the  Sabbath,  when  its  immense  tables 
are  crowded  with  a  brilliant  company,  mostly  from 
Paris  circles. 

We  live,  indeed,  in  a  luxurious  age,  when,  for  a  few 
dollars  per  day,  we  may,  by  registering  our  names  at 
such  a  hotel,  enjoy  the  luxuries  afforded  by  the  rarest 
cuisine ;  well-trained  attendance  and  a  wealth  of  beauty 
displayed  in  chambers  and  salons ;  without  effort  fan- 
cying ourselves  legitimate  incumbents  of  a  palace; 
with  the  added  blessing  of  security,  which  such  do 
not  always  enjoy;  going  out  and  coming  in  without 
fear  of  the  assassinating  knife  or  traitorous  gunpowder. 

After  a  day  spent,  as  can  be  nowhere  outside  of 
Paris,  we  make  as  elaborate  a  toilet  as  is  possible  for 
tourists,  and  descending,  enter  the  brilliant  salons,  now 
dazzling  with  artificial  light  and  charming  with  human 
grace  and  beauty.  Having  previously  procured  the 
tickets  to  be  presented  at  the  door  of  the  salle  ct 
manger,  we  join  the  crowd,  and  find  ourselves  soon 
seated  at  one  of  the  many  large  tables.  We  look 
around  us.  The  scene  is  an  impressive  one,  and 
would  be  if  the  apartment  itself  were  the  only  object 
of  interest.  It  is  immense,  with  very  lofty  ceiling, 
which  repays  one  for  the  effort  of  upward  gazing,  as  it 
glitters  in  the  flood  of  gaslight  with  brilliant,  artistic 


PARIS.  19 

beauty ;  mirrors  sparkle  everywhere ;  fine  frescoed 
pictures  filling  intermediate  spaces,  while  the  tables 
are  made  bright  aud  alluring  by  a  profusion  of  rare 
plants  and  flowers,  silver  and  white  and  colored  crystal. 

But  the  human  is  an  important  element  of  attraction, 
and  the  rustling  of  silks  and  the  flashing  of  diamonds 
invite  the  wondering  gaze  to  women  whose  beauty 
gladdens  not  only  masculine  eyes,  but  those  of  their 
less-favored  sisters,  however  incredulous  men  may  be 
of  the  fact.  Some  radiant  in  natural  charms,  and  all 
in  those  of  elegant  dress,  their  finer  sensibilities  exhil- 
arated by  the  splendor,  brightness,  and  glow  around 
them  ;  men  in  studied  toilets,  their  gallantry  appearing 
in  gracious  form,  with  faces  expressing  content  with 
the  prospect  before  them. 

The  tables  are  of  great  width,  permitting  one,  if 
inclined,  to  comment  upon  a  vis-a-vis  without  detec- 
tion. No  bustling,  obtrusive  service  to  annoy;  the 
quick,  noiseless  tread  of  attendants  adding  animation 
to  the  scene.  No  clatter  of  dishes,  only  the  faint 
sound  of  glass  and  china,  which  is  pleasantly  suggestive 
to  the  waiting  appetite.  We  have  it  proved  to  us  that 
the  French  are  masters  of  the  gastronomic  art ;  dain- 
ties of  wondrous  concoction,  which  defy  analysis,  must 
be  partaken  of  with  a  simplicity  of  faith  which  is 
rewarded  through  the  palate. 

The  scene  gathers  interest.     The  feast  of  appetite 


20  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

induces  a  "flow  of  soul;"  faces  brighten  under  stimu- 
lating influences,  and,  although  voices  are  modulated 
by  refined  instinct,  yet  there  is  a  livelier  ring  in  their 
notes  as  the  talk  flows  on  the  crimson  tide  of  wine. 
It  is  an  inspiriting  scene  of  elegance,  display,  and 
animated  enjoyment,  which  all,  whatever  the  tempera- 
ment, must  recognize  and  respond  to. 

We  are  all  more  or  less  sybarites  by  nature;  even 
those  endowed  with  natural  energy,  if  necessity  did 
not  urge  its  exertion,  or  some  other  impelling  motive 
did  not  prompt  its  exercise,  would  soon  be  found  drift- 
ing on  some  sunny,  sluggish  stream  of  life,  ready  to 
anchor  in  any  inviting  harbor. 

The  love  of  luxurious  ease  is  natural,  and,  however 
antagonistic  it  may  be  to  the  previous  habits  of  a  man's 
life,  it  is  astonishing  how  quickly  he  becomes  enam- 
ored of  the  seductive  charms  of  an  elegant  leisure. 

After  the  dinner,  which  has  occupied  an  hour  and  a 
half,  we  saunter  into  the  salons,  one  of  which  in  all  its 
details  is  a  perfect  imitation  of  a  Turkish  apartment. 
The  effect  is  delightful,  heightened  by  soft  music,  mel- 
low lights,  and  gliding  forms  in  rich  array;  and  as, 
through  satisfaction  of  appetite,  an  impetus  is  given  to 
the  social  nature,  a  pleasing  hum  of  voices  makes  a 
flowing  undercurrent  of  sound. 

Donning  our  overgarments,  we  are  soon  on  our  way 
to  probably  the  grandest  opera-house  in  the  world.     It 


PARIS/  21 


was  a  pet  creation  of  Napoleon  III.,  and  in  every 
particular  testifies  to  its  exceeding  cost  and  magnifi- 
cence. Indeed,  it  would  be  difficult  to  distract  one's 
attention  from  the  elaborate  architectural  and  artistic 
beauties  of  the  building  to  concentrate  it  upon  the 
stage  and  the  players.  The  entrance  and  the  corridors, 
which  form  a  grand  promenade  between  the  acts,  are 
majestic  and  splendidly  imposing.  The  situation  of 
the  opera-house  is  well  chosen,  as  it  is  in  the  vicinity 
of  several  fine  boulevards,  for  which  also  we  are  in- 
debted to  the  late  emperor,  who  imprinted  upon  the 
city,  which  it  was  his  ambition  to  embellish  and  glorify, 
his  own  elegant  and,  it  would  seem,  classical  taste. 
Whatever-his  weaknesses  and  even  faults,  we  will  not 
withhold  the  admiring  commendation  due  his  laudable 
and  successful  efforts  to  make  Paris  the  city  of  the 
world,  a  city  "  whose  light  cannot  be  hid."  May  it 
continue  to  enliven  and  gladden  the  world  with  its 
gayety  and  wondrous  brilliancy  ! 

Paris  in  its  brightness  and  magnificence  is  as  inde- 
scribable as  it  is  unrivalled;  its  boulevards,  avenues, 
and  principal  streets  are  truly  wonderful ;  their  great 
distances,  colossal  statues,  abundance  of  verdure  and 
foliage,  and  fine  stores,  in  the  windows  of  which  the 
elegant  fabrics  are  arranged  with  all  the  skill,  fancy, 
and  taste  which  distinguish  the  French,  produce  such 
an  effect  as  dazzles  and  fascinates  the  beholder. 


22  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

We  draw  a  deep  sigh  as  we  turn  our  backs  upon  the 
seductive  delights  of  a  city  where  gloom  seems  a 
stranger,  and  where,  unlike  any  other  known  spot  on 
the  globe,  no  lurking  shadows  hover.  Charm  is  some- 
thing so  subtile  in  its  nature  that  it  eludes  verbal  or 
written  description,  so  that  we  can  never  hope  to  ana- 
lyze the  attraction  which  Paris  has  for  all  who  have 
walked  in  its  sunshine  and  mingled  in  its  gay,  brilliant 
scenes. 

Very  many  have  explored  the  heart  of  a-  city,  but 
how  few  comparatively  have  penetrated  to  its  very 
bowels.  This  we  do  in  visiting  the  intestine-like  sewer- 
age of  Paris.  They  are  one  of  the  most  astonishing 
features  of  this  remarkable  city,  and  are  a  triumph 
of  engineering  skill ;  the  prose  of  Paris  life,  while  its 
poetry  rises  higher,  having  rare  illustrations  in  the 
art-galleries  and  even  in  some  phases  of  street-life. 

The  most  singular  excursion  we  have  ever  made  is 
through  these  sewers.  So  great  is  the  demand  for  en- 
trance that  is  extremely  difficult  to  obtain  a  permis, 
and  it  can  only  be  accomplished  through  the  influence 
of  our  resident  minister. 

A  friend,  with  "power  at  court,"  procuring  admis- 
sion for  himself  and  family,  includes  us  in  the  novel 
experience.  A  party  of  a  dozen  sallying  out  at  mid- 
day find  themselves  standing  around  a  flat  grating  on 
the  sidewalk,  under  the  very  shadow  of  the  beautiful 


PARIS.  23 

Church  of  the  Madeleine.  Presently  the  square  grat- 
ing is  uplifted,  revealing  a  stone  flight  of  winding 
stairs,  narrow,  dark,  and  uninviting. 

"  Deep  was  the  cave,  and  downward  as  it  went 
From  the  wide  mouth  a  rocky,  rough  descent ; 

And  there     .     .     .     th'  lake  extends 
0?er  whose  unhappy  waters,  void  of  light, 
No  bird  presumes  to  steer  his  airy  flight." 

Arriving  at  the  base  we  look  instinctively  around 
for  the  old  boatman,  Charon,  for  it  seems  to  our  ex- 
cited imagination  that  the  river  Styx  flows  sluggishly 
by  at  our  feet.  What  we  do  see  is  a  turgid  stream, 
whose  darkr- waters  betray  its  impurity,  and  on  it, 
awaiting  our  entrance,  a  boat  resembling  an  ordinary 
row-boat.  Attached  to  it  by  ropes  are  two  men,  who 
are  to  pull  it  forward.  On  each  side  of  this  murky 
river  is  a  narrow  tow-path,  wide  enough  for  a  single 
man.  We  look  aloft  and  around  us  to  find  our  vision 
bounded  by  the  colossal  iron  sewers  through  which  we 
could  travel  three  hundred  miles  under  the  city.  The 
sombre  gloom  of  this  subterranean  passage  is  relieved 
by  lamps  such  as  are  used  to  light  the  streets  above. 
They  emit  a  lurid  flame  that  adds  to  the  weirdness  of 
the  scene,  and  as  the  eye  glances  forward  to  an  appar- 
ently interminable  distance  the  effect  is  very  peculiar. 
The  sullen  waters  purged  of  palpable  impurities  are 


24  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

yet  impregnated  with  their  essences,  and  fail  to  reflect 
clearly  the  ruddy  lights  which  strive  to  brighten  them. 

They  are  like  many  souls  which,  clouded  by  the 
darkness  of  sin,  repel  Heaven's  light  and  refuse  to 
open  their  recesses  to  its  healing  beams.  On  and  on 
we  speed,  drawn  by  the  two  fleet  human  steeds  mile 
after  mile,  knowing  always  our  location,  as  the  lamp- 
posts bear  the  names  of  the  streets  under  which  we 
are  floating.  Peering  into  the  dim  distance  the  im- 
mense sewer  seems  to  narrow  to  impassable  limits,  and 
yet  when  we  reach  that  horizon,  we  find  ourselves  still 
in  apparently  unrestrained  liberty. 

At  the  expiration  of  perhaps  half  an  hour  we  are 
disembarked  and  transferred  to  an  open  car;  which 
runs  on  rails  and  spans  a  narrower  stream.  The  car 
is  drawn,  as  was  the  boat,  by  men,  and  so  rapidly  do 
they  bear  us  along  that  we  are  surprised,  on  reaching 
the  terminus  of  our  ride,  to  find  that  they  are  not 
breathless,  but  all  standing  quietly  by  in  their  harness 
with  no  appearance  of  weariness.  To  our  great  relief 
we  find  no  dog  Cerberus  guarding  the  portal  as  we 
emerge  from  the  Stygian  gloom. 

Mounting  the  stone  steps,  we  are  once  more  denizens 
of  the  upper  regions.  Surely  we  have  been  in  the  lower 
long  enough,  and  are  glad  now  to  inflate  our  lungs 
with  the  pure  air  and  feast  our  eyes  with  the  bright 
sunlight,  which  seems  to  gladly  greet  us  once  again. 


VERSAILLES.  25 


VEKSAILKES. 


The  ride  by  rail  to  Versailles  is  an  interesting  one, 
not  only  from  its  natural  picturesqueness,  but  because 
it  introduces  us  to  that  portion  of  the  country  made 
memorable  by  being  the  site  of  many  battles  fought 
between  Germany  and  France.  Here,  as  in  Paris,  all 
traces  of  devastation  are  being  obliterated,  it  seeming 
to  be  the  policy  of  the  republic — a  policy  well  con- 
ceived— to  teach  the  people  forgetfulness  by  removing 
all  vestiges  of  an  experience  harrowing  and  fermenting 
to  the  thought  and  disturbing  to  the  peace. 

Reachmg^Versailles,  once  a  populous  city,  but  long 
since  dwindled  to  the  insignificance  of  a  sluggish  town, 
we  find  an  omnibus  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  train. 
"With  dismay  we  are  compelled  to  the  necessity  of 
mounting  a  narrow  flight  of  steps  to  occupy  seats  on 
the  top.  To  what  strange  expedients  does  travel  re- 
strict one !  Having  many  times  before  experienced  its 
arbitrary  power,  we  are  the  better  prepared  now  to  ac- 
commodate ourselves  to  the  unfeminine  situation.  So 
"  screwing .  our  courage  to  the  sticking-point"  we  scale 
the  ladder,  conscious  that  we  are  attentively  watched 
by  masculine  eyes  from  within ;  for  whoever  knew  a 
Frenchman  to  turn  them  away  at  such  a  time?  al- 
though his  inborn  politeness  would  forbid  the  nearest 


26  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

approach  to  a  smile,  a  restraint  which  our  awkward- 
ness must  make  painful. 

The  Palace  is  an  architectural  marvel,  probably  the 
finest  royal  residence  in  the  world ;  it  is  more  than_ 
eight  hundred  feet  long,  and  contains,  beside  eight 
magnificent  salons  of  paintings  and  statuary,  a  gallery 
two  hundred  and  thirty-two  feet  long,  thirty  broad,  and 
thirty-seven  high,  and  is  lighted  by  seventeen  immense 
windows.  It  is  unsurpassed  in  magnificence  by  any 
in  Europe,  being  an  enduring  monument  to  the  fame 
of  Lebrun,  to  whom  it  is  indebted  for  its  architectural 
perfection.  We  look  in  upon  the  chamber  in  which 
Louis  XIV.  closed  his  brilliant  reign :  the  bed  on 
which  he  died  has  been  restored  to  its  original  condi- 
tion; and,  as  if  to  present  a  marked  contrast,  the  next 
room  shown  is  where  Louis  XVI.  used  to  dine  in 
public  on  Sundays  with  his  queen,  Marie  Antoinette. 
Among  the  salons  is  the  card-room  where  Madame  de 
Montespan  is  said  to  have  lost  in  one  night  four  hun- 
dred thousand  pistoles.  The  effect  of  all  this  display 
of  immensity,  grandeur,  beauty  of  decoration,  of  fur- 
niture, and  of  artistic  treasure  upon  those  whose  tastes 
and  associations  are  of  republican  simplicity  is  almost 
overwhelming.  We  experience  actual  relief  when  in- 
troduced into  that  part  of  the  Palace  containing  the 
petites  appartements  de  Marie  Antoinette,  for  they  are 
marked  by  an  even  uninviting   degree   of  plainness, 


VERSAILLES.  27 

singularly  destitute  of  the  luxurious  embellishments 
which  abound  elsewhere. 

Within  the  boundaries  of  the  park  are  the  two  villas 
called  the  Grand  and  the  Petit  Trianons.  The  first 
was  built  by  Louis  XIV.  for  Madame  Maintenon. 
It  is  in  Italian  style,  and  consists  of  but  one  story  with 
two  wings,  and  is  handsomely  ornamented  with  paint- 
ings and  statuary.  The  Petit  Trianon  is  small  and 
of  simple  construction,  built  by  Louis  XV.  for  Ma- 
dame Du  Barry,  and  afterwards  appropriated  by  Marie 
Antoinette  as  the  nucleus  of  a  little  Swiss  village,  com- 
posed of  a  few  rustic  houses,  a  mill,  and  a  dairy.  'Tis 
said  that,  surfeited  with  the  splendors  of  the  great 
Palace  andTennuied  with  the  cold  formalities  of  court- 
life,  she  delighted  to  escape  from  them,  seeking  with  her 
husband  this  rural  retreat  for  a  while  to  play  the  role 
of  pastoral  queen.  A  part  of  the  romance  was  to  go 
to  the  dairy,  and  there  skim  the  milk  with  queenly 
hands  and  pat  the  butter  into  pretty  forms  between 
her  delicate  royal  palms.  Indeed,  she  might  well  be 
pleased  with  her  novel  task,  for  the  dairy,  situated  in 
a  lovely,  sylvan  spot,  secluded  from  courtly  or  rustic 
gaze,  amid  sweet  growth  of  shrub  and  tree,  furnished 
with  white  marble  shelves,  a  crystal  stream  running 
through,  forms  a  graceful  little  temple  for  the  royal 
worshipper  of  pastoral  life. 

It  is  affirmed  that  this  pretty  conceit  of  the  romantic 


28  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

queen  cost  her  the  respect  of  her  subjects,  who,  loving 
display  and  magnificence  in  the  royal  estate,  had  no 
sympathy  with  this  unqueenly  whim.  Believing,  too, 
that  courtly  dignity  was  forfeited  thereby,  the  prejudice 
already  springing  up  against  her  was  increased  by  this 
really  harmless  indulgence. 

As  we  saunter  through  the  pleasant  woods  back  to 
the  Petit  Trianon  we  are  filled  with  sad,  regretful 
thought,  that  this  innocent,  pure-minded  woman,  with 
such  a  yearning  for  the  simple  joys  of  life,  weary  of 
the  burdensome  obligations  of  royal  rank,  should,  by 
courting  happiness  in  its  simplest  forms,  have  incurred 
denunciation.  We  should  think  that  womanly  sympa- 
thy and  chivalric  admiration  and  approval  would  have 
been  her  meed,  instead  of  condemnation  for  this  and 
for  the  other  frivolous  offences  which  culminated  in  her 
terrible  fate.  In  the  Petit  Trianon  we  stand  in  the 
small  room  which  the  queen  and  the  king  occupied ; 
the  furniture,  even  to  the  simple  bed,  standing  as  they 
did  one  hundred  years  ago,  when  this  pretty  farce  of 
country  life  was  enacted.  The  dressing-table  is  mounted 
with  a  glass  exceedingly  small,  but  large  enough  to 
reflect  the  sweet  face  and  the  delicate  neck  which  were 
to  be  sacrificed  to  the  guillotine  by  the  cruel  mandate 
of  an  infuriated  people.  Not  satisfied  with  the  blood 
of  the  weak-minded  king,  they  thirsted  for  that  of  the 
woman  whose  dignified  mien,  courageous  bearing,  and 


VERSAILLES.  29 

gentle  patience,  during  the  last  months  of  her  life, 
proved  her  to  have  been  a  woman  of  character  and  of 
magnanimous  soul. 

The  park  pertaining  to  the  Palace  is  fifty  miles  in 
circumference,  and  offers  the  most  diversified  attraction 
of  temples,  pavilions,  artificial  lakes,  groves,  parterres, 
and  shrubbery,  with  a  prodigal  display  of  exquisite 
statuary.  The  fountains  are  numerous,  and  when  play- 
ing present  the  most  extraordinary  spectacle  of  the 
kind  in  the  world.  The  magnificence  of  the  park  and 
gardens  accords  with  that  of  the  grand  structure  to 
which  they  belong.  They  are  most  surely  the  creation 
of  great  talent,  the  more  marked  as  nature  lent  no  aid, 
the  grounds-  being  originally  peculiarly  uninviting, 
offering  obstacles  even  difficult  to  conquer,  "genius 
being  obliged  to  struggle  against  nature."  But  what 
a  victory  did  it  achieve  ! 

The  Coach-House,  situated  between  the  two  Trianons, 
contains  great  curiosities  in  the  way  of  royal  equipages. 
The  finest  was  constructed  for  the  coronation  of  Charles 
X.,  and  was  used  also  at  the  baptism  of  the  Prince 
Imperial.  Here,  too,  is  the  coach  used  by  Napoleon  I. 
when  First  Consul;  his  wedding-coach  also,  with  others 
of  inferior  beauty,  but  all  of  fabulous  cost  and  elegance. 
Heavily  gilt,  and  displaying  the  most  exquisite  paintings 
on  their  panels,  they  seem  like  moving  thrones  for 
mighty  gods,  or  at  least  for  the  most  august  sovereigns. 


30  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

The  Republic  will  scarce  employ  these  wonderful 
chariots,  for  ostentatious  display  ill  comports  with 
Republicanism,  which  is  rooted  in  simplicity,  and  if 
losing  this  distinguishing  characteristic  becomes  a  mis- 
nomer. How  astounding  has  been  the  result  of  this 
republican  sentiment  in  France !  A  people  naturally 
volatile;  remarkably  susceptible  to  outward  impressions; 
born  and  bred  amid  monarchical  scenes ;  their  national 
vanity  and  pride  pampered  by  its  dazzling  display; 
their  diversions  secured  through  the  ministry  of 
ephemeral  pleasure, — for  it  has  ever  been  the  policy 
of  the  French  government  to  amuse  the  people,  thus 
diverting  their  active  minds  from  serious  thought. 
They  have  witnessed  monarchy  dethroned,  and  pomp, 
upon  which  they  once  fed,  fade  out.  Martial  music 
no  longer  fills  constantly  the  ear,  nor  does  military 
presence  obtrusively  make  brilliant  every  promenade 
in  Paris,  the  Mat  of  royalty  being  superseded  by  the 
unostentatious  regime  of  a  republic. 

And  yet  this  people,  with  an  adaptation  that  has  as- 
tonished the  waiting  world,  have  so  quietly  and  deter- 
minedly returned  to  the  prosaic  industries  of  life  that 
national  prosperity  is  assured,  its  sun  already  rising 
in  the  horizon  with  a  brightness  that  is  an  augury  of 
a  brilliant  Future.  A  Future  whose  dawning  greatness 
shall  prove  more  permanent  than  any  past,  because 
founded  upon  the  solid  rock  of  Republicanism,  whose 


VERSAILLES.  31 

crystallized  elements  are  literal  Liberty,  Equality,  and 
Progress. 

A  se/f-governing  people  is  the  most  reliable  and 
substantial,  because  to  feel  that  the  reputation  and  sta- 
bility of  the  government  depend  upon  its  own  sobriety, 
dignity,  and  fidelity,  is  to  develop  all  that  inherent 
force  and  nobility  which  is  the  germ  of  national  as 
well  as  of  individual  character,  and  the  responsibility 
of  self-government  evokes  it  all. 

Long  life  to  our  young  sister  Republic  of  France ! 
May  her  characteristic  enthusiasm  lead  her  to  continue, 
and  to  rejoice,  in  her  new  liberties ;  through  her  won- 
derful ingenuity  and  skill  replenishing  her  lately  ex- 
hausted treasury,  and  losing  the  reputation  of  a  char- 
acter governed  by  impulse  and  inflammable  passion, 
win  one  for  self-control  and  national  stability !  And 
now  that  the  country  is  no  longer  under  the  influence 
of  a  feminine  fanatical  papistry,  may  she  become  a 
"  nation  whose  God  is  the  Lord  !" 

Endowed  by  nature  as  the  French  are  with  a  skill 
and  fancy  that  assume  beautiful  forms;  a  grace  and 
polish  that  make  them  an  elegant  and  attractive  people ; 
a  politeness  and  urbanity  of  manner  that  win  the  ad- 
miration of  the  world, — gifts  of  such  universal  bestow- 
ment  that  the  humblest  class  seem  "to  the  manor  born," 
— they  are  eminently  qualified  to  hold  a  brilliant  and 
prominent  place  in  the  family  of  nations. 


CHAPTER    II. 
NICE— GENOA. 

NICE. 

Nice,  open  to  a  fine  view  of  the  Mediterranean,  is 
half  encircled  by  hills,  whose  rugged  sides  afford  sites 
for  many  villas.  The  old  portions  of  the  city  are 
dirty  and  dilapidated,  its  streets  dark,  narrow,  and 
crooked ;  while  the  new,  through  the  influx  of  visitors, 
has  been  made  very  elegant  by  the  erection  of  fine 
buildings  and  the  opening  of  grand  boulevards. 

A  curious  feature  of  the  view  from  our  window  is 
that  of  a  walk  on  the  flat  roofs  of  some  low-built 
houses,  and  as  we  write  we  see  many  passing  to  and 
fro  on  the  strange  thoroughfare.  Our  eye  wanders 
beyond  to  the  swelling  sea,  which  is  reflecting  with 
dazzling  brilliancy  the  glare  of  a  meridian  sun.  The 
scene  is  an  interesting  and  animated  one,  and  presents 
characteristic  features  of  lowly  life  in  this  olden  town. 
The  fishermen  and  their  wives  are  mingling  together, 
engaged  in  their  respective  avocations;  the  men  disen- 
tangling their  nets  and  arranging  fishing-tackle,  or  in 
32 


nice.  33 

their  little  rocking  boats  catching  sardines;  women 
in  groups,  talking  and  washing ;  the  beach  covered 
with  clothing  spread  oat  to  dry;  the  waves  fringed 
with  white  foam  dashing  up  against  the  shore.  And 
little  children  toying  with  the  white  sand,  stopping  at 
times  to  cast  wondering  glances  over  the  surging  sea, 
by  their  careless  grace  and  bright  movements  add  com- 
pleteness to  a  scene  worthy  the  eye  and  pencil  of  an 
artist. 

Not  far  beyond  is  a  walk  lined  with  trees  and  called 
the  "  Promenade  des  Anglais,"  built  by  the  subscription 
of  some  English,  who  wished  in  a  time  of  great  desti- 
tution to  give  employment  to  the  poor  of  the  town. 
It  is  the  fashionable  resort  during  an  hour  or  two  at 
noon,  when  the  scene  is  enlivened  by  music  from  a 
band  in  the  Jardin  Publique  at  the  extremity  of  the 
Promenade.  Gay  bevies  of  ladies  in  fascinating  toilets 
and  gentlemen  in  exquisite  array  are  standing  exchang- 
ing morning  greetings  or  walking  up  and  down ;  mov- 
ing models  of  fashion  and  style ;  some  cluster  around  a 
little  carriage  drawn  by  a  man,  in  which  an  invalid  is 
seated,  for  this  climate  so  salubrious,  and  its  air  so  pure, 
bright,  and  healthful,  is  found  to  be  healing  to  irritated 
lungs  and  reviving  to  enfeebled  frames.  We  have  sel- 
dom witnessed  such  a  scene ;  for  although  our  American 
watering-places  present  such  a  panorama  of  elegance, 
yet  here,  the  winter's  resort  of  Europe,  one  may  meet 


34  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

the  representatives  of  every  nation,  and  this  infinite 
variety  is  very  refreshing. 

The  suburbs  of  Nice  present  very  delightful  views, 
for  here  nature  has  lavished  her  treasures  of  sea  and 
mountain,  blossom  and  foliage.  A  drive  on  the  banks 
of  the  Mediterranean  affords  a  rare  combination  of 
loveliness  and  of  European  luxury.  Fields  of  living 
green  dotted  with  trees,  some  in  full  bloom,  others 
weighed  down  with  their  rich  burden  of  golden  fruit 
in  beautiful  contrast  with  the  dark  green  of  the  foliage; 
the  dappled  skies  of  silvery  clouds,  golden  lights,  and 
azure ;  the  profusion  of  flowers,  cacti,  geraniums,  and 
blossoming  vines;  the  ever-changing  sea,  with  the 
Italian  villas  on  its  borders  and  the  protecting  hills 
which  crown  the  landscape. 

In  the  rear  of  our  hotel  is  a  high  hill,  which  forms 
by  terraces  a  fine  garden;  its  gravel  walks  are  bor- 
dered with  the  luxuriant  growth  of  flowers  indigenous 
to  this  clime  and  a  great  variety  of  fruitful  trees,  the 
olive,  date,  pepper,  orange,  and  lemon.  Mounting 
several  terraces  we  come  to  an  old  tower  and  fortress, 
enjoying  a  view  whose  wide  sweep  embraces  the  town, 
the  sea,  and  the  mountain  ranges,  and  we  wonder 
not  to  learn  that  this  romantic  ruin  was  the  chosen 
spot  of  Meyerbeer  while  writing  his  opera  "  Robert 
Le  Diable." 

Not  far  distant,  within  a  grove  redolent  with  the 


NICE.  35 

perfume  of  rare  plants,  and  amid  a  wealth  of  bloom, 
is  a  mausoleum  erected  to  the  memory  of  the  eldest 
son  of  the  Emperor  of  Russia.  The  Czarowitz,  who 
was  twenty-two  years  of  age  when  he  died,  had  come 
from  his  own  northern  home  to  seek  in  this  balmy 
clime  relief  from  his  sufferings;  and  perhaps  he  even 
dreamed  that  its  soft  southern  breezes  would  bear 
health  on  their  wings  ;  but,  alas  !  the  dread  fiat,  which 
comes  alike  to  prince  and  peasant,  had  gone  forth, 
and  he  died  here,  in  a  house  which  stood  on  the  spot 
where  his  parents  have  erected  this  costly  and  elegant 
memorial.  Its  entrance  is  of  marble  and  stained  glass, 
and  within  are  exquisite  paintings  in  niches  on  the 
wall.  As^we  enter  the  eye  first  falls  upon  an  altar 
which  is  entirely  covered  with  richly  decorated  cloth, 
in  front  of  which  is  a  rug  beautifully  embroidered  by 
his  mother ;  on  this  a  bouquet  of  natural  flowers  had 
been  placed  the  day  before  by  a  sister  of  the  deceased. 

Surrounding  this  altar  are  three  fine  paintings,  the 
first  representing  the  baptism  of  the  Czarowitz  imme- 
diately after  his  birth ;  the  next,  the  centre  one,  the 
patron  saint ;  the  third,  the  death-scene,  with  angels 
hovering  near.  The  dome  is  very  high  and  gorgeously 
ornamented  in  gold  and  fresco.  Three  times  a  year 
the  Greek  service  is  performed  within  this  miniature 
chapel. 

Remembering  that  Nice  is  the  birthplace  of  Gari- 


36  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

baldi,  we  seek  out  the  home  of  his  early  years,  finding 
it  in  an  humble  house,  poor  and  dirty.  At  the  head 
of  the  stone  stairs  a  marble  slab  has  been  inserted  in 
the  wall,  on  which  are  inscribed  his  name  and  the  year 
of  his  birth,  1807.  The  room  in  which  the  mother 
bore  the  embryo  patriot  is  very  small,  with  floor  of 
red  tile ;  the  only  article  of  furniture  is  the  bed  stand- 
ing in  an  alcove.  A  very  aged  woman,  soiled  and 
grotesque  in  appearance,  shows  us  his  picture,  below 
which  he  had  written  his  name,  with  the  words,  "  To 
the  friend  of  my  childhood."  She  had  known  him 
when,  as  a  child,  he  had  played  on  that  very  floor,  and 
is  proud  and  happy  to  find  that  we  Americans  have 
come  to  do  honor  to  the  patriot. 

A  ride  over  the  Corniche  Road,  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  in  Europe,  introduces  us  to  nature's  grandest 
forms  of  beauty.  The  sea  on  one  side  and  "Alps 
piled  on  Alps"  on  the  other.  Never  have  our  eyes 
rested  upon  views  more  sublime  at  times,  and  at  others 
more  picturesque  and  lovely.  We  ascend  to  a  height 
of  twenty-two  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea, 
looking  down  upon  towns  with  their  towering  steeples, 
which  seem  dwarfed  in  the  distance ;  upon  valleys  fer- 
tile and  pastoral,  suggestive  of  peace,  quiet,  and  plenty; 
and  upon  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  the  white-crested 
waves  gleaming  like  silver  spangles,  and  the  variety 
of  colors  blending  as  in  an  exquisite  painting;  ships, 


NICE.  37 

like  toys,  on  its  mirrored  surface ;  the  sunlight  shed- 
ding a  halo  of  light  upon  the  distant  hill-tops.  Leafy 
dales  and  glens,  filled  with  soft  shadows,  nestling  in 
the  lap  of  huge  mountains ;  stupendous  rocks  mounting 
toward  heaven,  with  a  crown  of  snow  upon  their  lofty 
brows.  Billowy  Alpine  hills  assuming  majestic  forms, 
the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  seeming  to  deck,  as  with 
rubies,  their  coronets  and  breast-plates  of  snow ;  some 
of  them  dotted  to  their  summits  with  cottages  and 
hamlets.  Many  ruins  of  buildings  supposed  to  have 
been  built  before  the  Christian  era ;  dilapidated  vil- 
lages ;  gigantic  crosses ;  mules  with  panniers,  such  as 
we  have  seen  in  pictures ;  peasantry  with  their  bright- 
colored,  ^picturesque  costume ;  vegetation  rich  and 
abounding;  shrubbery  in  full  blossom,  all  conspire 
to  form  a  view  worthy  of  the  original  divine  benedic- 
tion, uAnd  God  saw  everything  that  he  had  made, 
and  behold  it  was  very  good." 

An  hour's  ride  by  rail  brings  us  to  Monaco,  the  cap- 
ital of  the  smallest  monarchy  in  Europe.  It  is  com- 
posed of  fifteen  hundred  souls;  boasts  of  a  little  fleet, 
two  cannons,  a  few  soldiers,  a  palace,  and  a  Casino, 
whose  gorgeous  salons  are  the  attraction  which  allures 
many  strangers.  Introduced  for  the  first  time  to  a 
place  of  this  character,  we  see  much  to  interest,  to 
astonish,  and  to  shock. 

The  spacious  salons  into  which  we  are  ushered  are 


38  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

dazzling  in  display  and  regal  in  all  their  appointments. 
Art  has  contributed  in  many  forms  to  make  the  scene 
beguiling  and  fascinating.  The  breath  of  exotics  bur- 
dens the  air  with  its  oppressive  sweetness,  their  bloom 
delighting  the  eye  with  brilliant  hues ;  music  in  stirring 
strains,  and  in  the  softest  and  most  subtile,  excite,  stim- 
ulate, and  inflame--  The  light  of  day,  too  prosaic  for 
such  a  scene,  is  excluded,  and  gas-light,  which  can  be 
made  tributary  to  the  producing  of  certain  influences, 
is  mellowed  and  subdued  ;  a  suppressed  quiet,  yet  vital 
with  the  germ  of  intense  feeling,  marks  the  occasion ; 
while  rich  color,  potent  in  effect,  pervades  the  air. 
The  very  atmosphere  and  all  the  surroundings  con- 
spire to  beguile  the  senses  and  to  pander  to  the  lower 
feelings  of  human  nature. 

In  each  salon  there  are  several  large  tables  covered 
with  green  cloth,  a  revolving  wheel  set  in  the  centre  of 
each.  In  arm-chairs,  seated  as  closely  as  possible,  are 
the  absorbed  players,  a  crowd  of  attentive  spectators  sur- 
rounding them.  The  study  of  their  faces  is  a  singular 
one.  Some,  as  they  stretch  forth  their  polished  wooden 
rakes  and  draw  in  their  gains,  look  delighted,  while 
the  unfortunate  ones,  in  many  cases,  fail  to  conceal  their 
chagrin.  At  one  table  stands  a  young  American  of 
about  twenty,  whose  evident  pleasure  as  the  money  he 
has  won  is  handed  him  attracts  our  attention.  He  hesi- 
tatingly lays  on  the  table  another  coin,  and  as  he  sees 


nice.  39 

it  swept  away,  with  heightened  color  and  anxious  eye 
repeats  the  act  and  re-repeats  it,  only  to  lose  again  and 
again,  until  in  disgust  he  turns  away.    • 

As  we  look  aloft  at  the  magnificent  ceiling,  and 
around  us  upon  the  gorgeous  display  of  art,  decoration, 
and  dress,  and  watch  the  faces  which,  in  many  in- 
stances, express  the  most  evil  passions  of  our  nature ; 
seeing  women  without  a  blush  of  shame  lay  down  their 
money,  and  hoary  heads,  even,  bowing  low  over  their 
gains ;  we  feel  that  we  have  a  glimpse  of  a  gilded  hell,  a 
painted  sepulchre,  full  of  corruption  and  moral  death. 

At  one  of  the  tables  sits  the  Countess  of  Homburg, 
a  very  large  lady,  painfully  lame  and  very  aged,  who 
is  raking4nrher  gains  with  great  rapidity,  wearing  an 
expression  of  almost  satanic  glee.  After  playing  for 
some  time  her  luck  changes,  and  she  rises,  declaring 
that  she  has  lost  all,  declining  the  suggestion  of  one 
of  the  officials,  who  advises  her  to  try  another  table. 
We  learn  that  she  is  an  habitue  of  the  Casino. 

Turning  away,  we  saunter  out  into  the  open  square, 
where  are  many  pretty  shops.  While  looking  at  some 
jewelry  in  one  of  them,  a  woman  of  about  forty-five, 
dressed  in  deep  mourning,  with  even  a  crape  veil, 
comes  in,  and  beckoning  the  proprietor  into  a  recess, 
shows  him  a  ring  which  she  wishes  to  pawn.  Follow- 
ing her  back  to  the  gaming-table,  where,  with  purse 
replenished,  she  stakes  at   first   cautiously  and  with 


40  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

varied  results,  we  scan  her  closely ;  her  cheek  becomes 
deeply  flushed,  her  eye  feverish,  and  her  manner  pain- 
fully eager.  To  see  her,  a  woman,  leaning  over  the 
men's  shoulders,  and  with  delicately-gloved  hand  push 
her  money  to  the  position  she  wishes,  and  then  watch 
with  absorbed  attention  for  the  result  of  the  throw, 
turning  with  a  despairing  look  to  the  manager  when 
she  loses,  and  then  with  a  gleam  of  unholy  light  in  her 
eye  when  she  wins,  is  at  once  disgusting  and  pitiable. 
At  length,  gathering  and  clutching  her  hoard,  she 
starts  away,  counting  it  as  she  goes. 

GENOA. 

On  leaving  Nice  for  Genoa  we  take  a  row-boat  to 
convey  us  to  the  small  steamer  lying  out  in  the  stream. 
Such  vociferation  and  gesticulation  we  have  never  be- 
fore heard  or  seen,  but  at  length  we  are  safely  aboard, 
enjoying  extremely  the  seven  hours'  trip,  which  is  one 
of  great  beauty ;  for,  as  we  "  hug  the  shore,"  the  Cor- 
niche  Road,  winding  through  the  mountains,  and  every 
town  and  city  on  their  sunny  slopes  are  in  plain  view. 
The  sunlight  is  brilliant,  the  water  like  a  mirror,  and 
as  calm  as  a  summer's  sea. 

As  we  approach  Genoa  we  are  delighted  with  the 
view  which  opens  before  us,  the  port  being  considered 
one  of  the  finest  in  Europe.  The  city,  called  La 
Superba,   from   the   beauty   of   its  situation,   is   like 


\ 


GENOA.  41 

an  amphitheatre  on  the  sea,  with  mountains  towering 
above  it.  Genoa,  although  making  a  grand  appear- 
ance as  it  is  approached  by  water,  is  not  beautiful  in 
itself,  as  many  of  its  streets  are  dirty,  narrow,  and 
steep  also,  the  city  being  built  upon  a  declivity.  It 
was  a  splendid  city  in  former  days,  and  retaining  ves- 
tiges of  mediaeval  beauty  in  its  numerous  palaces,  is 
interesting  to  the  stranger.  Some  of  the  churches, 
five  and  six  hundred  years  old,  are  replete  with  beauty 
of  fresco,  marble,  and  paintings.  Huge  forms  of 
marble  and  bronze,  all  hewn  from  solid  blocks  of  the 
same,  and  some  of  the  altars  inlaid  with  rare  jewels, 
are  among  the  curiosities.  Many  of  the  churches 
were  built-by  noble  families,  and  are  of  great  value 
and  interest.  The  Church  of  the  Annunciation  is  the 
most  magnificent  in  Genoa.  The  twelve  pillars  of 
black  marble  richly  inlaid  with  brilliant  colors,  the 
rich  gilding  of  the  dome  and  vault,  and  valuable 
paintings  form  some  of  its  attractions. 

In  the  Municipal  Palace  we  are  shown  some  of  the 
original  manuscripts  of  Columbus,  drawn  up  in  the 
Spanish  language,  and  also  the  leather  bag  which  he 
used  during  his  first  voyage  to  America  to  preserve 
the  book  which  contained  his  diary  giving  an  account 
of  his  discovery  of  the  New  World.  The  guide  tell- 
ing us  that  all  good  Americans  kiss  the  bag,  we  take 
the  hint  and  press  it  to  our  lips,  lingering  long  over 

2* 


42  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

the  sacred  relics.  Columbus  was  born  in  Genoa,  and 
although  he  found  in  his  native  land  no  sympathy  with 
his  views  and  aspirations,  yet  his  memory  is  now  cher- 
ished wTith  pride  by  his  countrymen. 

In  an  adjoining  room,  on  the  ceiling,  is  a  fresco  paint- 
ing of  the  interview  between  Columbus  and  his  royal 
Spanish  supporters  after  his  return  from  America. 
Two  Indians,  whom  he  has  brought  with  him,  are 
standing  by  his  side ;  while  pigeons,  birds,  and  North 
American  animals  are  at  his  feet.  The  expression  of 
astonishment  and  delight  is  very  apparent  on  the  faces 
of  his  illustrious  auditors  as  they  listen  to  the  thrilling 
narrative  of  their  immortalized  protege.  In  the  same 
building,  in  a  closet  lined  with  pink  wadded  silk,  hangs 
Paganini's  violin  and  its  case.  The  instrument  which 
had  breathed  forth  such  marvellous  strains  in  the  hands 
of  its  almost  inspired  master  is  further  protected  in 
glass. 

Perhaps  the  most  ancient  curiosity  yet  shown  us  is 
a  bronze  tablet,  strongly  resembling  iron,  covered  with 
written  Roman  characters,  which  are  almost  obliterated; 
this  dates  back  to  one  hundred  and  eighty-seven  years 
before  Christ.  It  records  the  decision  of  the  Roman 
commissioners  in  a  dispute  which  had  arisen  between 
the  ancient  Genoese  and  their  neighbors,  the  Vitturi, 
in  relation  to  the  proper  boundary  of  their  respective 
territories. 


GENOA.  43 

We  ride  to  the  suburbs  of  the  city  to  visit  the  Al- 
bergo  de'  Poveri;  this  is  a  very  fine,  large  building, 
capable  of  accommodating  two  thousand  two  hundred 
persons.  It  is  devoted,  as  its  name  implies,  to  the  in- 
terests of  the  poor.  It  stands  on  an  elevated  position, 
from  which  we  enjoy  a  delightful  view  of  the  city,  and 
being  brightened  by  beds  of  flowers,  tastefully  arranged, 
is  a  most  attractive  spot.  We  are  ushered  into  immense 
halls  lined  on  each  side  with  colossal  statues  of  the 
founders  and  other  celebrities,  but  the  chief  attraction, 
and  that  which  allures  us  to  the  spot,  is  a  bas-relief,  by 
Michael  Angelo,  of  the  "Dead  Christ."  It  is  hung 
over  one  of  the  altars  in  the  chapel,  and  is  framed  in 
gilt,  which-seems  out  of  taste  and  incongruous.  It  is 
the  finest  piece  of  sculpture  in  Genoa,  and  should,  we 
think,  be  placed  in  one  of  the  great  cathedrals,  where 
it  would  secure  the  attention  and  admiration  of  every 
stranger.  It  represents  the  Virgin,  with  head  draped 
in  a  veil  hanging  in  graceful  folds  around  the  face, 
which  wears  the  most  saintly  expression  of  tender  pity 
that  we  ever  saw  in  marble,  painting,  or  even  in  the 
"  human  face  divine."  Infolded  in  her  arm,  with  the 
head  reposing  on  her  bosom,  is  the  form  of  her  Ador- 
able Son.  The  pallor  of  death  rests  upon  the  features, 
the  eyes  closed,  and  the  mouth  slightly  open,  the  long 
hair  falling  back,  kept  in  position  by  one  finger  of  her 
hand.     Oh,  what  a  heavenly  face  it  is !    Divine  peace 


44  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

and  glory  seem  stamped  upon  it;  the  bitterness  of  death 
is  passed,  and  "Heaven  is  won!"  We  all  stand  in  awe, 
feeling  our  spiritual  natures  thrilled  and  stimulated  by 
the  almost  inspired  symbol. 

In  a  palace  occupied  by  the  daughter  of  the  Marquis 
Pallavicini,  the  richest  noble  of  the  city,  we  are  delighted 
by  paintings  of  the  best  masters  and  many  elegant  aud 
curious  works  of  art.  One  painting  represents  the 
noble  Roman  maiden  nourishing  at  her  breast  her  im- 
prisoned father,  who  had  been  doomed  to  the  linger- 
ing, torturing  death  of  starvation.  But  the  devoted 
daughter,  with  an  ingenuity  born  of  love,  conceived 
this  novel  and  touching  expedient  of  succoring  her 
beloved  parent.  The  judges,  who  from  a  satanic  malig- 
nity had  consigned  her  father  to  an  agonizing  death, 
wondering  at  the  continued  strength  and  life  of  their 
victim,  enjoined  upon  his  jailers  a  stricter  vigilance, 
which  resulted  in  the  discovery  of  love's  stratagem. 
Amazed  and  touched  by  this  pathetic  manifestation  of 
human  affection,  the  judges  restored  to  liberty  the 
parent  so  rich  in  filial  devotion.  Ah,  love  hath  its 
victories ! 

The  mosaic  floors  and  tables  in  this  palace  are  very 
fine,  and  the  ceilings  glitter  with  fine  frescoes.  One  of 
the  salons  is  hung  with  the  richest  flowered  silk,  some 
with  damask,  and  others  with  Gobelin  tapestry.  On  a 
table  stands  a  marble  cushion  covered  with  wrought 


GENOA.  45 

flowers,  on  which  rest  the  sculptured  hands  of  the 
lady  of  this  palatial  home.  They  were  modelled  from 
life,  and  are  exquisitely  small,  plump,  and  tapering. 

Seven  miles  from  the  city  is  a  villa  belonging  to  the 
lady's  father,  whose  only  child  she  is.  He  is  fabulously 
rich,  and  owns  in  Spain  one  of  its  finest  estates,  which 
he  has  never  yet  seen.  The  villa  we  visit  is  one  of 
many  belonging  to  him,  costing  many  millions  of  dol- 
lars. It  is  made  ground,  much  of  the  soil,  it  is  said, 
having  been  brought  from  the  Holy  Land  and  huge 
rocks  from  the  neighboring  mountains.  There  is  a 
grotto  of  stalactites,  artificially  made,  in  which  is  a 
pond  with  boats  upon  it.  We  walk  through  the  mean- 
dering paths  of  the  grotto, — it  is  a  perfect  labyrinth, — 
and  row  out  on  the  pond.  As  we  emerge  from  the  fairy 
spot  we  see  before  us  in  the  midst  of  the  water  a  mar- 
ble temple  of  Diana.  Scattered  through  the  grounds 
are  Turkish  kiosks  and  little  summer-houses,  in  which 
concealed  jets  are  made  to  play  suddenly  by  a  sly  touch 
of  the  guide,  and  a  spring,  around  which  are  arranged 
the  same  unseen  and  dreaded  fountains. 

In  this  interesting  park  are  curious  trees, — the  cam- 
phor, whose  green  leaf,  if  tasted,  suggests  its  character, 
and  the  cork-tree,  which  presents  a  singularly  rough, 
gnarled  appearance ;  also  the  banana,  date,  fig,  together 
with  the  cedar  of  Lebanon,  which  was  transplanted 
from  its  original  sacred  soil.     The  designer  of  this 


46  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

interesting  place,  which  is  too  full  of  curiosities  to 
describe  in  detail,  is  the  owner  himself. 

We  visited  other  palaces  curious  in  their  crumbling 
decay  and  marks  of  antiquity. 

The  ladies  of  Genoa  a  few  years  since  wore  no  hats 
or  bonnets  in  the  street,  but  a  broad,  long  breadth  of 
white  muslin  of  delicate  texture;  this  was  arranged 
becomingly  on  the  head  and  allowed  to  flow  behind  to 
the  bottom  of  the  skirt.  The  lower  classes  wore  a 
head -covering  of  the  same  form,  but  of  colored  and 
coarser  material.  In  our  recent  visit  to  Genoa  we  find 
that  this  unique  head-dress  has  been  superseded  by  a 
black  lace  veil. 


CHAPTER    III. 
PISA— FLORENCE. 

PISA. 

"We  are  astonished  to  find  that  many  of  the  streets 
in  this  once  great  city  are  grass-grown ;  a  fact  which, 
added  to  that  of  the  brooding  silence  and  comparative 
absence  of  human  life,  gives  it  the  appearance  of  an 
almost  deserted  city.  How  has  its  greatness  fallen ! 
Formerly  a  powerful  city  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  inhabitants,  now  numbering  scarcely  seven- 
teen thousand.  Pisa  has  been  blessed  with  a  brilliant 
prosperity,  and  has  also  had  an  active,  warlike  experi- 
ence;  but  gradually  sinking  into  its  present  sluggish 
insignificance,  presents  the  counterpart  of  human  life 
when  it  has  dwindled  into  the  "  lean  and  slippered 
pantaloon, — mere  oblivion,  sans  everything." 

All  that  is  of  interest  to  the  traveller  is  concentrated 
around  a  square  where  cluster  the  Cathedral,  the  Bap- 
tistery, the  Leaning  Tower,  and  the  Cemetery*  The 
grand  Cathedral  is  the  most  ancient;  it  is  built  in  the 
form  of  a  cross,  and  contains  fine  statuary,  many  rare 

47 


48  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

paintings  by  Andrea  del  Sarto  and  others,  and  remark- 
able old  monuments.  Over  the  altar  is  a  colossal  mo- 
saic figure  representing  Christ,  looking  like  a  gigantic 
Chinese,  singular  in  its  grotesqueness.  The  altar  is 
covered  with  silver  tablets,  which  cost  thirty-six  thou- 
sand dollars.  Suspended  in  the  nave  is  the  chandelier 
whose  oscillations  suggested  to  Galileo — whose  birth- 
place was  Pisa — the  principle  of  the  pendulum. 

The  Baptistery  is  a  large,  rotund  building  of  elaborate 
architecture  externally,  but  plain  within,  containing 
only  a  large  marble  baptismal  font,  and  a  pulpit  sup- 
ported by  pillars  of  rare  marble,  and  covered  with 
exquisitely  wrought  ivory  tablets  representing  our 
Saviour's  nativity  and  crucifixion.  But  the  marvel 
of  all  is  the  echo  which  the  guide  produces,  by  his 
voice  raised  and  lowered  in  a  graduated  scale.  This 
effort  is  rewarded  by  a  response,  in  its  first  notes,  as 
powerful  as  the  deepest  sounds  which  an  organ  gives 
forth ;  a  harmony  profound  and  soul-thrilling,  rever- 
berating from  the  lofty  dome  and  from  all  sides  of  the 
building ;  then,  with  a  melody  exquisite,  heavenly  in 
its  sweetness,  seeming  to  be  wafted  from  some  distant 
world  and  from  a  divine  source,  it  lingeringly  melts 
away  on  the  soft  air.  An  awe,  like  a  spell,  descends 
upon  us;  all  that  we  can  do  is  to  whisper,  "More, 
more;"  and  again  the  guide  evokes  from  vast,  far-away 
realms,  it  would  seem,  the  seraphic  harmony. 


pisa.  49 

This  echo,  so  wonderful,  is  deservedly  considered  one 
of  the  greatest  enjoyments  of  a  visit  to  Pisa. 

Opposite  the  Baptistery  stands  the  Leaning  Tower,  so 
justly  celebrated.  It  is  very  beautiful  externally;  of 
white  marble,  consisting  of  eight  rows  of  pillars,  one 
above  another,  and  is  one  hundred  and  sixty-eight  feet 
high.  Built  in  the  twelfth  century,  all  knowledge  of 
its  origin  is  obscure,  and  it  is  not  known  whether  its 
inclination  of  fifteen  feet  from  the  perpendicular  is 
the  result  of  design  or  of  the  sinking  of  the  soft  soil ; 
the  latter  is  a  reasonable  supposition,  as  two  public 
buildings  in  the  neighborhood  show  a  slight  obliquity 
on  the  same  side.  This  peculiarity  imparts  great  in- 
terest to  the-Tower,  and  as  it  has  stood  thus  six  hundred 
years,  no  apprehension  is  felt  in  ascending  it  or  in  loiter- 
ing within  its  shadow.  Its  interior  is  bare  and  rough; 
the  stone  staircase,  much  worn,  is  enclosed  within  the 
wall  and  lit  by  loopholes.  The  gentlemen  of  the  party 
ascend  to  the  dizzy  apex,  wishing  to  enjoy  the  extended 
view  to  be  obtained  at  such  a  height ;  the  guide  first  re- 
quiring the  assurance  that  they  had  not  indulged  in  the 
"  inebriating  cup"  at  dinner.  The  ladies  are  compelled 
to  be  satisfied  with  sitting  midway  on  the  stairs,  await- 
ing the  return  of  their  more  venturesome  companions. 

The  Campo  Santo — the  Cemetery — abounds  in  relics 
of  antiquity,  among  which  are  many  Roman  urns  and 
sarcophagi.     It  is  an  old  church-yard,  the  soil  of  nine 


50  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

feefc  having  been  brought  by  the  Pisans  from  Jerusa- 
lem. Surrounded  by  halls  built  in  the  Gothic  style, 
it  seems  to  have  been  the  school  of  the  early  painters, 
who  covered  the  walls  within  the  enclosed  arches  with 
curious  frescoes,  many  of  them  being  partially  effaced. 
There  is  a  painting  of  the  Inferno,  into  which  a  man, 
bound  hand  and  foot,  is  being  thrust  headlong.  The 
guide  laughingly  calls  our  attention  to  the  resemblance 
the  unfortunate  man's  face  bears  to  Bonaparte,  inti- 
mating that  there  is  also  a  similarity  in  their  fate. 
Let  us,  however,  exercise  charity  and.  believe  this  idea 
to  be  merely  imaginary. 

We  walk  by  the  graves  of  the  ancient  nobility,  who 
have  grand  memorials  of  sculpture  to  mark  their  final 
resting-place,  ruminating  upon  the  contrast  presented 
between  these  defunct  patricians  and  the  modern  re- 
publicans who  are  treading  upon  their  dust,  most  of 
which  had  slumbered  centuries  in  these  graves  before 
our  Republican  Land  was  discovered. 

We  represent  one  of  the  political  and  commercial 
powers  of  the  world,  while  their  glory  has  culminated, 
individually,  in  these  graves  at  our  feet, — a  death  which 
symbolizes  that  of  the  national  glory  of  their  country : 
its  present  decadence  presenting,  at  least,  a  sad  contrast 
to  its  former  grandeur.  What  a  commentary  upon 
the  changes  wrought  by  Time !  So  "  He  putteth  down 
one  and  setteth  up  another." 


FLORENCE.  51 

While  walking  in  one  of  the  solitary  streets  of  Pisa, 
a  man  enveloped  in  blue  gown,  and  mask  of  the  same, 
with  eyes  gleaming  through  small  apertures,  steps 
towards  us,  holding  out  a  box  to  solicit  charity  for 
some  benevolent  institution.  It  is  a  startling  appa- 
rition for  unaccustomed  eyes.  We  are  surprised  to 
find  that  the  suppliant  is  probably  a  nobleman  in  dis- 
guise; this  humiliating  ordeal  being  often  imposed 
upon  the  rich  and  proud  as  a  penance  for  the  com- 
mission of  some  heinous  sin. 

FLORENCE. 

Florence  is  said  to  be  the  fairest  city  of  the  world, 
and  we,  onrvisiting  it  a  second  time,  are  not  disposed 
to  question  its  claim  to  so  enviable  a  reputation.  It  is 
situated  in  a  fertile  valley.  The  surrounding  hills, 
their  sunny  slopes  studded  with  picturesque  villas, 
give  beauty  to  the  landscape.  The  A  mo,  which  di- 
vides the  city  into  two  unequal  parts,  might  have 
added  beauty  to  the  portions  through  which  it  flows, 
but  it  is  robbed  of  it  by  being  enclosed  within  walls. 
Those  who  have  dreamed  of  its  peaceful  flow  between 
green  and  flowery  banks  are  disappointed  on  first  see- 
ing it.  Nature  seems  to  resent  its  artificial  restrictions, 
and  withholds  the  beauty  until  later,  when  its  course 
becomes  bolder  and  freer,  and  it  gracefully  meanders 
between  sunny  banks,  on  which  villages  nestle,  create 


52  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

ing  a  picturesque  charm  that  has  inspired  many  a 
poet's  song.  The  river,  as  it  flows  through  the  city, 
is  spanned  by  several  bridges,  one  of  which  is  covered, 
and  is  lined  on  both  sides  with  cheap  jewelry-shops, 
whose  stocks  are  principally  exposed  in  glass  cases  out- 
side. One  can  readily  imagine  the  competition  exist- 
ing between  the  many  merchants  whose  traffic  is  in 
like  commodity. 

The  chief  architectural  ornament  of  the  city  is  the 
Duomo,  or  Cathedral ;  its  grand  cupola,  the  largest  in 
the  world,  designed  by  Brunelleschi,  was  so  admired 
by  Michael  Angelo  that  he  adopted  it  as  his  model  for 
that  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome.  The  floor  within  the 
Cathedral,  and  its  walls  without,  are  formed  of  black 
and  white  marble.  The  paintings,  the  frescoes,  and 
the  statuary  are  masterpieces  of  the  most  eminent 
artists  and  sculptors ;  but  one  is  not  easily  tempted 
from  the  contemplation  of  the  beautiful  exterior  of 
this  stately  structure,  for  we  have  stood  spell-bound, 
lost  in  admiration  of  its  immensity  and  elaborate 
adornment.  We  have  in  this  enjoyment  an  ancient 
and  illustrious  precedent  in  the  poet  Dante ;  the  stone 
upon  which  he  was  wont  to  sit  contemplating  the 
grand  creation  of  genius  is  now  inserted  in  a  building 
opposite,  with  an  inscription  commemorating  the  fact. 
The  stained  glass  of  the  windows  is  pronounced  the  per- 
fection of  the  art,  dating  back  to  the  fifteenth  century. 


FLORENCE.  53 

.  Very  near  the  Cathedral  is  the  u  Campanile/'  or  bel- 
fry, which  is  so  graceful  and  beautiful  as  to  deserve 
the  praise  of  Charles  V.,  when  he  declared  it  to  be 
"  worthy  of  being  enclosed  in  a  glass  case." 

Opposite  the  Cathedral  is  the  Baptistery,  whose  many 
granite  pillars  supporting  the  dome  are  relieved  by  the 
brilliancy  of  the  mosaic.  The  three  large  doors  of 
sculptured  bronze  are  miracles  of  art,  Michael  Angelo 
declaring  them  worthy  of  being  the  gates  of  Para- 
dise. The  designs,  representing  the  most  important 
events  of  biblical  history,  require  a  long  time  to  dis- 
cover and  to  digest  their  full  meaning  and  beauty.  It 
is  here  that,  according  to  law,  all  the  infants  are 
brought  when  two  days  old  to  be  baptized.  Two  priests 
are  constantly  officiating,  and  dirty  enough  they  are. 
While  gazing  around  upon  the  marble  walls  of  the 
Baptistery  and  upon  its  paintings,  all  of  which  have 
reference  to  the  ordinance  of  baptism,  we  are  startled 
by  a  sound  which  always  awakens  interest  in  the 
feminine  heart, — the  cry  of  a  babe.  We  turn  to 
witness  the  ceremony.  The  father  with  proud  air — 
do  we  imagine  it? — first  appears,  his  youthful  look 
surprising  us.  Then  come  several  lady  friends,  fol- 
lowed by  a  white-capped  nurse,  with  a  closely  swad- 
dled atom  of  humanity  in  her  arms,  its  long  robe  of 
richest  lace  falling  to  the  floor.  We  stand  awhile, 
instinctively  dreaming  of  the  happiness  that  had  been 


54  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

born  with  the  little  brown  head,  which  we  can  faintly 
discern,  when  a  lusty  scream  breaks  rudely  upon  our 
re  very.  We  scan  the  priest  more  closely;  he  is  put- 
ting salt  (!)  in  the  mouth  of  the  little  stranger,  who 
must  imagine,  if  its  powers  are  sufficiently  developed, 
that  it  has  been  ushered  into  a  harsh,  disagreeable 
world.  A  few  hastily-mumbled  prayers,  the  priest 
is  openly  paid,  and  the  ceremony,  so  trying  to  the 
tiny  novitiate,  is  completed. 

While  walking  in  the  street  we  are  startled  by  en- 
countering a  procession  of  about  a  dozen  men  robed  in 
black  paper-muslin  gowns,  wearing  masks  of  the  same 
color  and  material,  having  slits  for  the  eyes.  Four  of 
these  sepulchral  beings  bear  upon  their  shoulders  a 
bier,  covered  also  with  black.  Seeing  them  enter  an 
adjoining  building  we  follow,  and  are  surprised  to  find 
ourselves  being  locked  in  with  the  men,  who  lay  down 
their  burden.  Each  man  unmasks,  and,  divesting  him- 
self of  his  robe,  answers  to  the  roll-call.  Observing  a 
man  lifting  the  black  cover  from  the  bier  we  step  for- 
ward, and  see  that  it  contains  a  mattress  and  pillow 
and  bears  the  impression  of  a  body.  Realizing  the 
danger  of  coming  into  such  close  contact  with  what 
we  learn  has  conveyed  a  patient  to  the  hospital,  we  fly 
from  the  building. 

The  Church  of  "  St.  Croce"  reminds  one  of  West- 
minster Abbey,  inasmuch  as  it  contains  the  tombs  of 


FLORENCE.  55 

many  illustrious  men.  It  proudly  claims  the  remains 
of  Michael  Angelo,  Galileo,  Machiavelli,  Alfieri,  and 
a  sculptured  tribute  to  the  fame  of  Dante,  whose  body 
reposes  elsewhere.  The  tomb  of  Michael  Angelo  is 
worthy  of  the  perhaps  unequalled  brain  and  hand 
which  it  encloses ;  colossal  marble  statues  bend  weeping 
over  it,  representing  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Archi- 
tecture, of  which  three  arts  he  was  the  marvellous  ex- 
ponent. Over  these  is  a  bas-relief  of  the  great  dead. 
Dead,  truly,  in  bodily  presence,  but  if  "  reputation  is 
the  immortal  part  of  ourselves,"  he  is  alive  to-day,  and 
will  be  evermore,  in  the  thoughts  and  minds  of  all 
those  who  find  in  chiselled  forms  of  power  and  grace, 
in  glowinjg_color,  and  in  those  grand  conceptions  of 
beauty  which  we  call  architecture,  delight  for  the  eye. 
Nay,  more,  for  whatever,  through  refined  sensibilities, 
brings  pleasure  to  the  outward  sense  ministers  to  the 
soul. 

The  exterior  of  this  church  is  remarkably  beautiful, 
and  it  is  the  only  one  in  Florence,  excepting  the  Cathe- 
dral, whose  front  is  complete.  The  interior  of  many 
of  the  churches  of  the  Italian  cities  are  marvels  of 
beauty,  but  some  of  them  present  rather  dilapidated 
exteriors. 

One  of  the  wonders  of  the  city  consists  in  a  chapel, 
as  it  is  called,  although  it  contains  no  altar,  or  arrange- 
ment for  religious  service.     It  is  built  in  the  rear  of 


56  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

the  Church  San  Lorenzo,  and  is  connected  with  it. 
The  frescoes  on  its  dome  are  as  fine  as  any  we  have 
seen.  In  shape,  octagon ;  the  walls  of  the  chapel  are 
composed  of  the  rarest  marbles,  in  which  are  inserted 
the  most  precious  stones, — lapis-lazuli,  agate,  jasper, 
emeralds,  pearls,  and  corals.  Some  are  of  very  large 
size,  with  the  arms  of  the  Medici  family  and  Tus- 
can towns  in  mosaic.  The  floor  of  this  wonderful 
room  is  very  ordinary,  but  the  lofty  dome  and  the 
walls  reflect  a  novel  beauty  not  to  be  equalled,  we 
imagine,  for  the  cost  of  this  one  small  chapel  is  es- 
timated at  twenty-two  millions  of  lire,  or  nine  hundred 
thousand  pounds.  It  is  the  mausoleum  of  many  of 
the  Medici  family,  and  contains  the  sarcophagi  of  dukes 
and  kings.  Its  frescoes  represent  several  of  the  prin- 
cipal episodes  in  our  Saviour's  life,  and  the  marble 
mosaics  are  made  to  form  most  beautiful  designs. 

The  wealth  of  many  of  these  churches  is  almost 
incalculable,  and  it  makes  one's  heart  sink  to  see  it 
thus  invested,  while  the  masses  of  this  Roman  Cath- 
olic land  are  so  degraded  and  suffering. 

The  two  world-famed  galleries  of  the  Ufflzi  and 
Pitti  are  burdened  with  art-treasures  of  sculpture  and 
painting.  Repeated  visits  are  necessary  to  see  and 
"  inwardly  digest"  their  contents. 

An  octagon  hall  called  the  "  Tribune,"  in  the  Uffizi, 
contains   several   of   the   finest   specimens   of   ancient 


FLORENCE.  57 

sculpture  in  the  world.  The  Venus  de  Medici,  found 
in  the  sixteenth  century  in  Hadrian's  villa,  the  Young 
Apollo,  the  "  Grinder,"  the  "  Wrestlers/'  and  a  satyr, 
or  "  Dancing  Faun." 

We  visit  the  house  in  which  Michael  Angelo  lived. 
It  is  preserved  intact  by  his  worshipping  countrymen. 
Although  appearing  plain  to  us,  it  was  probably  con- 
sidered fine  in  his  day.  We  wander  through  the  salon, 
the  dining-room,  and  library,  penetrating  with  keen 
pleasure  to  the  little  sanctum,  only  large  enough  to 
hold  his  desk  and  the  wooden  seat  before  it.  We  look 
upon  his  manuscripts  and  autograph ;  handle  his  little 
slippers, — almost  incredibly  small  for  a  man's  use, — 
his  brushes^  and  cane,  and  see  many  of  his  rough 
sketches  and  clay  models,  delighted  to  come  in  such 
close  contact  with  the  life  of  one  of  the  most  gifted 
men  of  olden  time.  The  floors  are  all  tiled,  the  wood- 
work dark  and  rich,  and  the  doors  very  narrow,  all 
bearing  the  stamp  of  ancient  style  and  customs. 

Dante's  house  is  very  high  and  narrow,  and  in  a 
narrow  street.  An  inscription  on  the  house  declares  it 
to  have  been  the  home  of  the  "  divine  poet." 

How  strange  that  two  of  the  most  gifted  men,  rep- 
resenting the  genius  of  Italy, — Petrarch  and  Michael 
Angelo, — should  have  lived  lives  of  celibacy !  We 
who  believe  that  domestic  happiness — the  highest  form 
of  all — is  a  grand  inspirer  of  all  that  is  good  and  great; 

4 


58  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

that  a  happy  love  is  wonderfully  developing  to  the 
whole  nature  of  its  subject;  that  it  enkindles  every 
laudable  ambition;  heightens  every  noble  desire;  is 
suggestive  to  genius;  awaking  talent  often  in  the 
slumbering  mind ;  elevating  and  ennobling  every  sen- 
timent of  the  heart;  creating  beauty  even  in  the  barren 
soul,  cannot  but  think  that  every  life  would  be  en- 
riched and  made  more  fruitful  of  grand  results  were 
it  crowned  with  wedded  joy  and  family  ties.  As  we 
wander  through  the  suite  of  Michael  Angelo's  bachelor 
apartments  we  think  with  regret  that  they  have  never 
resounded  with  the  tuneful  voices  of  children,  or  to 
the  musical  accompaniment  of  a  wife's  tender  tones. 
With  such  mellowing  influences  permeating  his  life 
might  it  not  have  been  richer  even,  or,  at  least,  more 
serenely  happy  ? 

We  enjoy  exceedingly  a  drive  on  the  Cascine,  the 
fashionable  park  of  the  city,  bordered  on  one  side  by 
a  luxuriant  flowering  hedge  which  grows  to  a  great 
height;  the  Arno,  here  unfettered,  gliding  by,  and 
gleaming  through  the  rich  green  foliage.  The  park  is 
beautifully  diversified  by  little  copses  of  woodland; 
romantic  and  sheltered  foot-paths ;  meadows  of  living 
green,  of  such  shades  as  nature  alone  can  produce; 
gigantic  trees  vine-clad  to  their  tips ;  sequestered  paths 
where  only  coquettish  sunbeams  can  peep  through  the 
vine-trellised  branches;  the  graceful  river;    the  bold 


FLORENCE.  59 

line  of  Apennines,  on  which  the  deep  rich  shadows  love 
to  linger,  relieved  by  bright  gleams  of  sunlight,  make 
this  drive  a  continued  delight. 

We  can  always  associate  with  this  sweet  spot  a 
pleasure  never  before  enjoyed.  It  is  later,  when  "twi- 
light gray  is  with  her  sober  livery  all  things''  clothing ; 
a  delicious  hour;  flowers  and  verdure  are  exhaling 
their  richest  odors;  a  dewy  sweetness  fills  the  air; 
deep  shadows  born  in  the  valley,  gathering  gloom,  are 
creeping  up  the  hill-sides  to  be  soon  lost  in  the  embrace 
of  the  clouds  that  crown  the  summits.  Our  very  souls 
are  silently  absorbing  the  beauty  and  charm,  when  the 
softest  trillings,  swelling  to-  airy  flights  and  fuller 
melody,  reach:  our  ears  and  touch  our  hearts.  Although 
strangers  to  these  sweet  warblings,  we  exclaim,  "'Tis  the 
nightingale  unburdening  his  rich  throat  of  its  flood  of 
wonderful  song." 

We  remember  during  a  drive  in  this  same  park  some 
years  since  to  have  met  Victor  Emmanuel  on  the  broad, 
smooth  road.  Youth,  beauty,  and  fashion  glittered  in 
open  carriages,  on  horseback,  and  on  the  promenades ; 
but  the  king  was  passing,  and  we  were  eager  attention. 
What  a  face !  Of  figure  quite  imposing  and  military 
in  its  bearing ;  but  his  features,  his  expression  !  Had 
angels  ever  moulded  such  ?  No ;  vice  had  worked  the 
materials  into  their  present  form.  His  face  was  of  a 
purplish  hue;  his  eyes  were  bleared,  and  being  the  out- 


60  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

look  of  a  soul  given  up  to  voluptuous  indulgence,  were 
such  as  a  pure  woman  would  shrink  from  encountering. 
His  face  was  full  of  brute  force,  instinct  with  animal 
propensities,  and  as  a  woman's  intuition  is  "neither 
wayward  nor  blind,"  we  were  not  surprised  to  find  that 
the  story  of  a  life  of  sinful  license  confirmed  the 
record  indelibly  stamped  upon  his  features. 


CHAPTEK    IV. 

ROME. 

With  what  eager  desire  does  the  traveller  turn  his 
eyes  toward  Kome,  the  "Eternal  City;"  for  what  a 
blending  of  interest  is  there,  of  the  historian,  the  eccle- 
siastic, and  the  artistic !  There  is  so  much  of  majesty 
and  dignity  in  its  history,  that  when  we  trace  its  epochs 
down  the  long  line  of  centuries  through  the  enduring 
mementos  of  its  brilliant  achievements ;  its  indestruc- 
tible monuments  of  art;  the  splendor  of  its  artistic 
accumulations,  and  the  power  ecclesiastic  once  domi- 
nant, and  still  active  and  world-wide  in  its  influence ; 
with  its  sacred  association  with  the  apostles  of  our  own 
Protestant  faith,  we  move  amid  its  modern  scenes  filled 
with  a  solemn  reverence.  What  could  be  more  august 
in  its  crippled  strength  than  the  ruins  of  the  Coliseum? 
Built  by  Vespasian,  it  still  attests  its  pristine  solidity, 
and  although  much  of  its  material  has  contributed  to 
the  building  of  palaces,  yet  it  presents  a  grand,  formida- 
ble appearance   to   an   admiring   world.      Indeed,  it 

teaches  one  to  appreciate  a  colossal  ruin  shorn  of  many 

61 


62  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

ornamentations,  dismantled  and  hoary,  much  more 
than  many  a  grand  structure  which  has  retained  its 
original  perfection.  Even  as  we  are  often  more  at- 
tracted towards  the  gray  head  and  drooping  form, 
which  has  assumed  the  quieter  grace  of  age,  winning 
admiring  respect  through  its  very  venerableness,  than 
towards  the  athletic  figure,  instinct  with  youthful 
vigor. 

We  stand  in  the  unvaulted  arena  of  the  Coliseum 
imaging  with  horror  the  frightful  scenes  once  enacted 
here ;  for  we  read  that  during  the  inaugurative  festivi- 
ties, which  continued  through  many  days,  ten  thousand 
lives  were  sacrificed  to  the  brutal  tastes  of  a  populace 
who  thirsted  for  blood  and  gloated  upon  its  flow  as  do 
the  wild  beasts  of  the  forest.  According  to  custom, 
after  the  gladiator  had  felled  his  antagonist,  with  foot 
upon  his  prostrate  victim,  he  would  look  aloft  to  the 
tiers  upon  which  sat  the  ladies — wild  with  enthusiasm 
— to  learn  the  fate  of  the  vanquished.  Should  their 
dormant  sympathies,  by  chance,  be  aroused  and  they 
willed  that  the  life  of  the  unfortunate  wretch  be  spared, 
they  elevated  their  thumbs;  but  if  they  would  further 
pander  to  a  vitiated  appetite  for  the  horrible,  craving  a 
sight  of  writhing  physical  torments  and  a  freer  flow  of 
human  blood,  a  turning  down  of  the  thumb  intimated 
their  desire.  We  would  fain  believe  that  our  sex  were 
not  represented  at  these  scenes  of  wilful  carnage,  but 


ROME.  63 

history  forbids  the  indulgence  of  the  hope.  Nor  can 
we  doubt  that  the  feminine  element  was  the  most 
rapacious  and  eager,  as  we  believe  that  a  woman  when 
she  unsexes  herself  goes  to  the  extreme  of  possibility. 

What  acclamations-  rent  the  air  as  the  spectators, 
maddened  by  brutal  passion,  watched  the  successful 
thrust  of  the  fatal  spear  into  the  infuriated  beast  or, 
worse  still,  into  the  throbbing  heart  of  the  human 
martyr!  Did  not  those  cries  pierce  the  Divine  ear? 
and  was  it  not  through  Divine  justice  that  this  imperial 
city,  the  capital  of  Christendom,  the  arbiter  of  mon- 
archies, and  even  the  conqueror  of  the  world,  became 
one  of  the  least  of  its  powers  ?  Its  national  glory  and 
prestige  departed ;  its  splendor  paled  by  time ;  its 
grandeur  faded  out ;  its  papal  tyranny,  which  once  set 
its  heel  upon  crowned  heads,  now  dethroned,  humili- 
ated ;  its  once  unrestricted  sway  limited  to  an  ecclesias- 
tical rule,  and  that  greatly  enfeebled.  So  does  time 
avenge  the  wrongs  of  truth  and  justice. 

We  look  down  into  the  passages  through  which  the 
beasts  emerged  for  the  slaughter,  some  five  thousand 
being  prepared  for  the  inaugurating  festivities,  and 
think  of  the  soil  being  further  enriched  by  the  blood 
of  slaves  and  of  martyrs  innumerable. 

The  ruins  of  Rome,  its  stately  Forum ;  its  graceful 
arches;  its  gigantic  Coliseum;  revered  Pantheon  and 
unique  little  Temple  of  Vesta;  with  the  fragmentary 


64  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

splendor  of  the  Public  Baths,  are  all  so  full  of  thrill- 
ing interest  that  one  loves  to  linger  in  their  midst. 
Those  of  the  Coliseum  and  Caracalla  Baths  we  visit 
on  a  sunshiny  day,  when  the  heavens  are  filled  with 
a  radiant  light,  and  when  azure  clouds  hover  over  its 
broad  surface,  reflecting  beauty  upon  every  hill  and 
dale  of  the  landscape.  The  masses  of  ruin  are  covered 
with  a  rich  verdure  sprinkled  with  wild-flowers,  among 
which  nature's  sweet  choir,  feathered  songsters,  carol  so 
gladly,  so  blithely,  that  one  would  think  they  sang 
amid  luxurious  haunts  and  would  tell  some  glad  tale, 
instead  of  warbling  amid  the  ruins  of  a  former  gran- 

■ 

deur,  whose  story  of  great  achievements,  pomp,  and 
glory  they  might  now  sadly  tell. 

Ah,  there  is  a  great  charm  in  this  old  city !  A 
quaint,  quiet,  meditative  charm,  which  seeks  for  its 
indulgence  a  dreamy  contemplation  of  spots  sacred  in 
religious  association,  or  memorable  through  historic 
events,  brilliant  and  impressive.  The  very  air  seems 
burdened  with  the  weighty  secrets  of  a  power  so  great 
as  to  have  controlled  the  fate  of  nations,  which  later  it 
ruled  with  ecclesiastical  despotism.  Where  are  the 
glittering  pageants  whose  description  gives  such  bril- 
liant coloring  to  the  pages  of  history,  and  those  scenes 
of  festivity  which,  with  the  general  abandonment  to 
sensuous  luxury,  helped  to  culminate  in  the  utter 
enervation  of  the  people?     And  those  royal   entries 


ROME.  g5 

into  Rome  of  the  returning  conqueror,  attended  with 
such  Oriental,  barbaric  magnificence  as  to  make  it  neces- 
sary for  a  slave  to  stand  beside  the  idolized  victor  and 
exclaim  at  intervals,  "Remember  thou  art  a  man,"  lest 
amid  an  adoring,  worshipping  populace  and  pomp 
overwhelming  he  should  be  beguiled  into  the  belief 
that  he  was  in  very  truth  a  god  ! 

We  walk  the  same  streets,  in  which  life  is  now  slug- 
gishly represented,  that  once  were  swarming  with  a 
warlike  people,  and  after,  with  those  who  were  rich  in 
all  the  arts  and  wealth  of  a  pampered  race;  but  what 
a  contrast  does  the  present  age  present, — the  arts  lost, 
wealth  decayed !  We  cannot  be  merry  in  Rome,  our 
minds  are  busy  with  conjuring  such  scenes  as  were 
once  enacted  in  this  grand  theatre  of  the  world's  action, 
and  in  recalling  to  memory  those  pictures  we  have  seen 
and  descriptions  we  have  read  of  Babylonish-like 
luxury,  ease,  and  sumptuousness  of  days  whose  twi- 
light has  long  since  faded  into  night.  But  the  glow 
of  its  national  sunset  seems  still  faintly  to  linger 
around  the  city  of  such  dazzling  memories. 

Grand,  imperial  Rome,  with  its  glorious,  rich  past, 
must  fascinate  the  traveller.  Its  ruins  of  centuries  are 
full  of  intense  power,  and  in  its  very  decay  is  its 
charm.  There  is  so  much  that  breathes  of  the  event- 
ful history  of  the  centuries  past  that  we  learn  to  disso- 
ciate ourselves  from  the  present,  and  live  only  in  the 

4* 


66  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

scenes  of  those  early  times  when  the  apostles  trod 
these  places,  and  when  contemporary  and  succeeding 
heroes  left  upon  their  age  the  stamp  of  great  genius 
and  renown. 

St.  Peter's,  the  grandest  church  in  the  world,  is  al- 
most, through  the  combined  skill  of  the  architect  and 
artist,  an  inspiration.  Entering  the  door,  before  which 
hangs  a  thickly-wadded  leather  curtain  so  encrusted 
with  dirt  that  one  shrinks  from  its  contact,  even  with 
gloved  hands,  we  suddenly  find  ourselves  in  a  vast 
space,  so  magnificent  in  dimensions,  in  mammoth  stat- 
uary and  superb  mosaic,  that  we  are  fairly  dazed,  and 
feel,  with  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  "  that  the  half  was  not 
told  us."  It  is  impossible  to  form  permanent  impres- 
sions of  so  wonderful  a  fabric  on  first  inspection,  for 
St.  Peter's  grows  upon  one.  We  find  ourselves  more 
delighted  with  its  artistic  beauty  and  more  amazed  at 
its  immensity  and  grandeur  on  each  succeeding  visit. 
Its  perfection  of  proportions  is  such  as  prevents  the 
realization,  at  first,  of  its  vastness.  The  extreme  length 
of  the  church,  within  the  walls,  is  six  hundred  and 
seven  feet,  its  width  four  hundred  and  forty-five  feet, 
while  its  height,  from  the  pavement  to  the  cross,  is  four 
hundred  and  fifty-eight  feet. 

When  walking  through  its  broad  naves  one  realizes 
his  own  physical  insignificance,  for  the  vault  above 
seems   heaven-high,  and   the   space   surrounding   one 


ROME.  67 

illimitable.  Indeed,  even  large  persons  and  objects  at 
a  short  distance  seem  pigmy-like  and  dwarfed. 

The  high  altar,  under  a  canopy,  is  all  in  bronze  gilt, 
supported  by  four  twisted  columns  ninety  feet  high. 
Here  is  placed  the  great  chair,  which  the  Pope  only 
occupies  on  his  coronation  and  upon  certain  festive 
days.  Under  the  high  altar  is  seen  the  chapel  of  the 
"Confession,"  where  are  preserved,  'tis  said,  the  re- 
mains of  St.  Peter.  One  hundred  and  forty-two 
lamps  are  always  kept  burning  here.  Pius  IV.  is 
interred  in  this  chapel,  and  his  kneeling  statue  by 
Canova  is  very  fine.  At  the  bottom  of  the  Tribune, 
in  the  middle  nave  of  the  church,  under  a  canopy,  is  a 
bronze  statue  of  St.  Peter ;  seated  on  a  bronze  chair, 
which  encloses  the  wooden  one  said  to  have  been  used 
by  St.  Peter  and  his  successors.  This  is  an  object  of 
special  devotion,  all  Catholics  who  pass  it  stopping  to 
kiss  the  foot  which  projects  from  the  pedestal,  touching 
it  with  their  forehead,  some  kneeling  before  it  to  pray. 
The  toe  is  really  much  worn  and  the  foot  is  burnished 
from  constant  friction.  It  is  curious  to  watch  the 
throng  as  they  pass  this  shrine ;  the  lowliest,  filthiest 
beggar  often  preceding  the  most  elegant,  refined  men 
and  women;  the  latter  touching  with  their  dainty  lips 
the  toe  which  the  polluted  mouth  of  the  dirty  pauper 
has  just  pressed. 

Learning  that  there  are  to  be  unusual  ceremonies  at 


68  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

St.  Peter's  on  Ascension  Day,  we  gladly  avail  ourselves 
of  the  opportunity  to  witness  what  must  prove  to  be  a 
curious  and  novel  scene.  We  arrive  early  at  the  church, 
and  as  no  seats  are  provided,  we  wander  from  pictures 
to  monuments,  and  from  chapel  to  chapel,  of  those 
that  open  out  of  St.  Peter's,  until  the  services  begin. 
These  are  all  choral,  the  choir  being  composed  of  male 
voices,  conducted  by  one  of  Italy's  great  musical  artists. 
What  voices !  A  grand  medium  to  chant  the  Creator's 
praise.  The  crowd  gathers  around  in  silence,  all  ears 
intent  upon  the  concord  of  sweet  majestic  sounds  that 
are  worthy  of  the  superb  cathedral  in  which  we  stand. 
The  hour  approaches  for  the  singular  ceremony  of 
lowering  the  sheet,  which  we  are  to  believe  was  the 
veritable  one  in  which  our  blessed  Saviour  was  en- 
folded while  lying  in  the  sepulchre  during  his  three 
days'  entombment !  The  grand  music  strengthens  in 
volume,  and,  we  think,  gains  in  sweetness  too;  the 
afternoon  is  waning,  and  long  shadows  creep  through 
the  wonderful  dome  down  into  the  church,  filling  it 
with  a  subdued  light  in  keeping  with  the  sombre 
memories  evoked  by  the  ceremonies.  All  eyes  wander 
to  a  lofty  gallery,  and  the  gaze  is  riveted  there,  as  a 
sheet,  bordered  wTith  wdde  strips  of  red  velvet,  is  grad- 
ually lowered,  until  its  full  dimensions  are  displayed. 
The  devout,  or  we  should  say  the  superstitious,  fall 
upon   their   knees,   cross   themselves,  and   apparently 


ROME.  (59 

pray  fervently.  To  our  eyes  the  sheet  seems  marvel- 
lously preserved,  and  very  white  and  fresh  to  have 
attained  the  age  claimed  for  it.  And  in  the  kneeling 
devotees  who  surround  us  the  credulity  of  the  Romish 
faith  is  abundantly  proved. 

"  St.  John  Lateran"  is  probably  the  second  church 
to  St.  Peter's  in  splendor.  It  is  rich  in  art  and  in 
marbles;  indeed,  the  marbles  which  form  the  finest 
churches  are  many  of  them  very  rare,  and  almost  as 
beautiful  as  gems  we  often  think,  as  we  trace  the 
veined  lines  and  note  the  varied  colors  which  form 
pictures  in  themselves. 

Under  a  portico  near  this  church  is  the  "Santa 
Scala,"  a  marble  staircase  of  twenty-eight  steps,  which, 
it  is  alleged,  belonged  to  the  house  of  Pontius  Pilate, 
and  to  be  those  on  which  our  Saviour  descended  from 
the  judgment- hall.  ~No  one  is  allowed  to  mount  these 
except  on  their  hands  and  knees,  saying  an  ave  or  a 
paternoster  at  each  step,  and  descending  by  another 
flight  of  steps  at  the  side.  So  great  are  the  crowds  of 
all  ranks  and  conditions  who  attempt  to  ascend  the 
sacred  steps  in  the  prescribed  awkward  manner,  that 
to  insure  their  preservation  they  have  been  enclosed  in 
wood.  We  have  reason  to  realize  the  veneration  in 
which  these  stairs  are  held.  A  gentleman  of  our  party 
being  ignorant  of  the  conditions  of  their  ascension 
starts  to  mount  them  by  foot,  when  he  is  seized  by 


70  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

several  men,  who  handle  him  somewhat  roughly  before 
being  convinced  that  his  politeness  alone  would  have 
insured  his  compliance  with  their  rules;  or,  at  least, 
an  avoidance  of  all  disrespect  to  their  religious  prej- 
udices. 

The  Church  of  St.  Clement  we  find  is  always  visited, 
as  it  offers  the  singular  attraction  of  two  churches,  one 
above  another  and  a  third  structure  beneath  them. 
The  upper  church  is  ancient,  dating  back  to  the  ninth 
century ;  beneath  this  is  a  lower  and  more  ancient  one, 
discovered  in  1857,  in  which  we  see  curious  frescoes 
and  some  marble  pillars.  Beneath  these  are  the  re- 
mains of  what  is  supposed  to  be  the  house  of  the 
saint  whose  name  the  church  bears.  The  Pantheon  is 
another  prominent  monument  of  ancient  times.  Built 
by  Agrippa,  it  has  been  despoiled  of  many  of  its  ori- 
ginal ornaments,  yet  still  presents  a  noble  appearance. 
The  portico  is  embellished  with  sixteen  Corinthian 
columns.  The  interior,  a  perfect  circle,  is  lighted  by  a 
central  opening  in  the  vault  above.  Originally  a  pagan 
temple,  it  was  converted  by  Pope  Boniface  IV.  into 
a  Christian  church  in  the  year  608.  It  is  a  fitting 
sepulchre  for  Raphael,  who  is  buried  here. 

In  visiting  the  Church  of  the  Capuchins,  we  found 
a  monastery  connected  with  it,  which  is  supported  by 
charity.  The  monks  are  extremely  poor  and  dirty,  and 
are  said  to  wear  their   clothing,  which  consists  of  a 


ROME.  71 

brown  gown,  hood,  and  wooden  sandals,  without  change 
until  they  are  worn  out.  The  most  peculiar  feature  of 
the  establishment  is  the  sepulchre  beneath  the  church. 
A  startling  sight  greets  us  as  we  enter  the  close,  musty 
aisles.  There  is  a  long,  narrow  passage  lined  on  one 
side  by  small  recesses,  in  each  of  which  stand  the  skele- 
tons of  the  most  distinguished  of  the  deceased  monks 
in  their  customary  habiliments,  with  crucifixes  tightly 
clenched  in  their  fleshless  fingers.  The  variety  of  ex- 
pressions upon  the  faces  of  these  gaping  skeletons  is  a 
curious  study ;  some  seem  to  be  grinning  at  their  fate, 
while  others,  with  dolorous  and  sometimes  frightful 
countenances,  to  be  bewailing  theirs,  and  as  if  they 
would  warn  the  spectators  to  avoid  the  same.  The 
ceiling  of  this  singular  sepulchre  is  ornamented — if  we 
may  use  the  term — by  the  bones  of  the  numerous  dead, 
most  fantastically  arranged  with  marvellous  ingenuity 
in  odd  designs.  At  the  sides  are  heaps  of  the  heavier 
bones  of  the  human  body,  showing  that  many  hun- 
dreds, if  not  thousands,  of  monks  have  contributed 
towards  the  collection.  We  learn  from  the  attending 
guide,  who  is  himself  a  monk  of  the  order,  that  when 
a  member  of  the  fraternity  dies  he  is  buried  in  the 
ground  of  these  recesses,  and  after  three  years  is  ex- 
humed, and  if  he  had  been  unusually  distinguished  for 
saintly  qualities,  is  dressed  in  the  robe  which  was  laid 
aside  at  his  death,  and  is  assigned  a  niche;  or  he  is  dis- 


72  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

sected,  his  bones  aiding  in  the  general  ornamentation. 
Pointing  to  a  grave  at  our  feet,  the  cicerone  informs  us 
that  the  last  candidate  for  these  sepulchral  honors  was 
buried  there  about  a  fortnight  before.  Overcome  by 
emotions  of  awe,  horror,  and  disgust,  we  turn  and 
hastily  flee  from  the  place  apparently  haunted  by  the 
spirits  of  the  deceased  friars. 

The  grand  steps  on  the  Piazza  di  Spagna,  leading  to 
the  Trinita  de'  Monti,  is  the  spot  chosen  by  those  who 
would  be  engaged  by  artists  and  sculptors  as  models. 
Here  they  are  to  be  seen  at  all  hours  in  characteris- 
tically indolent  attitudes,  lounging  gracefully  on  the 
steps.  The  little  cherubs,  not  with  the  proverbially 
sunny  hair  and  blue  eyes,  but  those  of  raven  blackness, 
their  eyes  gleaming  with  most  mischievous  sparkling 
light.  The  peasantry  of  the  country  form,  in  many 
instances,  its  most  picturesque  feature.  They  are 
dressed  coarsely,  and  yet  so  fancifully  with  their 
scarlet  bodice,  white  neckerchief,  graceful  coiffure,  and 
sandalled  shoes,  that  the  effect  is  extremely  pretty  and 
unique.  The  dancing  black  eyes  and  rich  heavy  hair 
of  the  little  urchins  often  tempts  us  to  stop  and  admire 
these  gifts,  of  which  nature  is  here  so  prodigal,  and 
which  many  of  nobler  blood  might  envy  them. 

The  Vatican,  the  palace-home  of  the  Pope,  contains 
a  vast  number  of  salons  and  galleries  in  which  are  col- 
lected some  of  the  richest  gems  of  art.     Its  museum 


ROME.  73 

is  considered  the  finest  in  the  world,  while  its  library- 
contains  twenty-three  thousand  manuscripts  and  thirty 
thousand  printed  volumes.  Years  might  be  consumed 
in  the  investigation  and  study  of  the  vast  collection  of 
art-treasures  and  ancient  relics  of  these  galleries,  for 
there  are  several  objects  of  such  unfailing  interest  that 
one  would  never  exhaust  their  suggestive  meaning. 
The  most  prominent  of  these  are  two  of  the  most  cele- 
brated pictures  in  the  world,  "  The  Transfiguration"  by 
Raphael,  and  the  "Communion  of  St.  Jerome"  by 
Domenichino,  standing  near  each  other.  What  a  mar- 
vellous conception  of  the  infinite  must  Raphael  have 
had  to  give  such  beauty  to  the  Saviour's  visage  and 
such  inspiration  to  His  whole  figure !  We  find  some 
new  beauty  blossoming  out  under  our  warm,  rapt  gaze 
each  moment.  Celestial  glory,  through  the  rifted 
clouds,  is  irradiating  the  uplifted,  Divine  countenance 
of  the  Saviour  as  He  stands  on  the  mount  surrounded 
by  the  three  prostrate  apostles.  What  a  blending  of 
adoring  love,  sweetness,  and  majesty  as  He  raises  His 
eyes  towards  the  beloved  Father,  whose  presence  is 
manifested  by  an  ineffable  light  in  the  cloud,  as  He  says, 
"  This  is  my  beloved  Son ;  hear  ye  Him !"  And  then 
the  speechless  awe  of  the  crowd  below !  among  whom 
is  the  powerful  representation  of  the  demoniac  boy 
whose  restoration  had  baffled  the  skill  of  the  disciples, 
but  which  was   afterwards   effected  by  the  Saviour. 


74  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

Certainly  the  spiritual  nature  of  the  artist  must  have 
been  quickened,  and  his  pencil  touched  with  inspiration 
as  this  wondrous  revelation  of  divine  grace,  glory,  and 
power  was  made  through  his  magic  touch.  We  cannot 
associate  any  such  success  with  Murillo  or  Rubens,  as 
their  colors  are  marked  by  a  sensuous  warmth,  and  their 
outlines  and  figures  are  so  invariably  suggestive  of 
voluptuousness, — of  the  earth,  earthy.  But  Raphael's 
conceptions,  coloring,  and  touches  are  refined,  subdued, 
and  chastened  by  a  purer  thought  and  taste.  What 
a  fitting*  crown  for  his  head  as  he  laid  in  state  was  this 
expiring  effort  of  his  genius!  for  it  was  previous  to  the 
completion  of  the  painting  of  the  "Transfiguration" 
that  he  sickened  and  died,  having  reached  the  zenith 
of  his  fame.  Let  us  hope  that  he  was  admitted  to  an 
abundant  entrance  into  the  heavenly  kingdom  whose 
celestial  light  and  glory  he  had — although  with  the  in- 
evitable imperfection  of  human  effort,  yet  with  an  un- 
equalled skill — striven  to  portray  on  the  Divine  features. 

The  "Communion  of  St.  Jerome,"  by  Domenichino, 
is  of  lowlier  aspiration,  as  it  is  human  features  that  are 
there  depicted.  And  yet  what  absorption  and  earnest- 
ness in  spiritual  emotion  are  delineated  in  the  expres- 
sion of  the  dying  saint,  as  in  a  condition  of  frightful 
emaciation  his  frame  is  supported  in  a  kneeling  posture 
while  he  partakes  of  the  last  sacraments ! 

The  Villa   Borghese   and   its   park,  although   not 


ROME.  75 

healthily  situated,  are  very  inviting  from  their  beauty 
and  the  fine  artistic  collection  within  the  palace.  Its 
clief-d'ceuvre  is  the  full-length  reclining  statue  of  the 
fair  and  frail  Pauline,  sister  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte, 
and  the  faithless  wife  of  the  Due  de  Borghese,  whose 
palatial  estate  this  once  was.  The  symmetry  of  her 
form,  and  indeed  every  feature  of  this  dissolute 
woman,  was  pronounced  absolutely  faultless,  with  the 
exception  of  her  ears,  which,  we  are  told,  "  were  two 
flat,  thin  pieces  of  cartilage,"  deformingly  ugly.  An 
envious  beauty  remarked,  in  Pauline's  presence,  that 
were  her  ears  similarly  deformed  she  would  cut  them 
off;  the  mortified  subject  of  the  insult  burst  into  tears 
and  fled  from  the  room.  She  afterwards  avenged  her- 
self by  calling  her  fair  enemy,  who  was  very  tall,  "  a 
May-pole." 

The  statue,  by  Canova,  was  modelled  from  life,  a  fact 
which  so  shocked  and  displeased  the  Due  that  he  ban- 
ished it  to  a  more  secluded  palace  in  Genoa,  where  it  re- 
mained until  after  his  death,  when  it  was  replaced  here 
in  its  original  position.  A  lady  inquired  of  Pauline  how 
she  could  have  submitted  to  so  trying  an  ordeal.  "Oh," 
exclaimed  the  shameless  beauty,  "there  was  a  fire  in 
the  room  j"  utterly  ignoring  the  indelicacy  of  the  ex- 
perience but  presuming  a  prosaic  meaning  to  the  lady's 
question.  The  statue  represents  the  original  as  half 
reclining;  one.  hand  holds  the  apple  of  Paris,  from 


76  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

which  circumstance  the  statue  derives  its  name  of 
"  Venus  Victrix."  So  exquisite  is  the  beauty  and 
grace  of  feature  and  form,  that  had  it  wings  we  should 
consider  it  a  sublime  conception  of  angelic  beauty. 

Judging  from  Pauline's  antecedents,  it  is  not  sur- 
prising that  she  wearied  of  even  the  great  natural 
beauty  of  this  famed  estate  and  of  the  wealth  of  its 
artistic  collection,  but  separating  from  her  husband  she 
repaired  to  her  brother's  court,  where,  in  a  dissolute 
throng,  she  "out-Heroded  Herod." 

Several  years  since  when  in  Rome  we  stumbled  into 
a  studio  where  we  were  fairly  entangled,  for  the  ex- 
ceeding beauty  of  a  sculptured  gem  threatened  to  keep 
us  prisoners  by  its  side. 

On -a  marble  couch  lay  two  cherub  boys,  the  head  of 
each  crowned  with  flowing  curls ;  they  had  been  in- 
dulging in  a  joyous  frolic;  pillows  were  awry  and  sheets 
displaced ;  the  short  dress  revealing  the  beauty  of 
chubby  infant  limbs.  Sleep  had  stolen  upon  them 
with  such  sudden,  irresistible  power,  that  one  hand  had 
been  arrested  in  its  attempt  to  grasp  a  stray  curl  of  the 
little  brother,  and  the  smile  of  mischief  had  not  died 
out  from  the  half-parted  lips.  All  was  in  sweet  dis- 
array, presenting  such  a  picture  as,  we  thought,  would 
awaken  the  maternal  instinct  even  in  a  maiden's  breast. 

Involuntarily  paying  the  sweetest  tribute  that  genius 
can  receive, — tears, — we  turned  and  met  the  pleased 


ROME.  77 

expression  of  the  artist,  who  had  approached  us. 
"Who,"  we  inquired  in  covetous  tones,  "is  to  possess 
this  exquisite  gem  ?" 

"  This,  the  sixth  copy,  has  been  ordered  by  a  bachelor 
in  Chicago,"  was  the  answer. 

u  And  why,"  exclaimed  we,  "  should  he  reject  the 
reality  and  seek  the  semblance  of  a  joy  ?" 

"Perhaps  this  may  convert  him,"  was  the  merry 
response  of  the  bachelor  artist. 

Upon  further  conversation  we  found  that  he  whose 
work  we  were  so  enthusiastically  admiring  was  none 
other  than  the  late  Mr.  Rhinehart,  the  gifted  Balti- 
morean,  who,  although  dying  young,  lived  long  enough 
to  fairly  earn  the  laurel  wreath  of  fame. 

While  in  Rome  during  the  pontificate  of  Pius 
IX.,  we  found  that  his  receptions  were  one  of  the 
social  features,  and  as  most  strangers  sought  the  oppor- 
tunity of  an  introduction  to  him  we  decided  to  follow 
suit.  On  learning,  however,  that  one  must  submit  to 
the  rule  of  bowing  the  knee  to  "His  Holiness,"  we 
declined  to  go.  It  seemed  to  us  sacrilegious  to  assume 
a  worshipful  attitude  towards  one  who  demanded  it  as 
a  spiritual  right,  and  whose  claims  to  infallibility  were 
shocking  the  Protestant  world.  There  surely  is  but 
One  "to  whom  all  knees  shall  bow,"  and  His  "king- 
dom is  not  of  this  world." 

When  expressing  our  sentiments  in  the  parlor  of  our 


78  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

hotel,  a  young  Englishman  heartily  endorsed  them,  and, 
while  declaring  his  intention  of  joining  the  party  at 
that  evening's  reception,  said  he  was  equally  determined 
to  parry  the  obligation  and  escape  with  a  low  bow. 

"  Well,"  said  we,  "  we  will  await  the  result  of  your 
experience  and  act  accordingly."  He  went  to  the 
Vatican  that  evening  with  many  others,  and  the  next 
morning  was  eagerly  questioned  by  us  as  to  the  de- 
nouement.   • 

With  some  chagrin  he  related  his  experience.  Ad- 
vancing in  his  turn  to  be  presented  to  the  Pope,  he 
made  a  profound  bow,  when  "  His  Holiness,"  detecting 
his  attempt  to  evade  the  customary  ceremonial,  laid  his 
hands  on  the  two  shoulders  of  the  young  reprobate — as 
he  probably  considered  him — and  pressed  him  down  on 
his  knees. 

We  did  not  go  ! 

While  standing  on  the  steps  of  St.  Peter's  one  day, 
the  Pope's  carriage  issued  from  the  grand  portal  of  the 
Vatican  grounds  and  slowly  passed  by  us,  so  closely 
that  we  could  have  shaken  hands  with  its  occupant. 
We  looked  with  interest  upon  the  face,  which,  although 
'twas  furrowed  by  age,  and  his  eye  was  dimmed  by 
time  and  the  sorrows  it  had  brought  him,  yet  was 
beautiful  to  look  upon,  beaming  as  it  was  with  benev- 
olence, a  very  "love-letter  to  all  mankind."  He 
stretched  forth  his  hands  as  if  in  benediction,  and  we 


ROME.  79 

bowed  in  grateful  acknowledgment  of  an  old  man's 
blessing. 

He  looked  much  more  deserving  of  his  title,  Inno- 
cent, than  were  some  of  his  predecessors  who  incon- 
gruously bore  that  name. 

We  turn  with  sadness  from  this  old  city,  and  feeling 
unwilling  to  believe  that  we  have  threaded  its  narrow 
streets ;  driven  over  the  famed  Appian  Way  ;  wandered 
through  its  endless  galleries ;  lingered  in  its  vast 
churches;  stimulated  our  sesthetic  tastes  and  indulged 
contemplative  moods,  through  its  classic  resources,  for 
the  last  time,  we  bethink  us  of  the  fabled  fountain  of 
Trevi, — the  most  remarkable  of  the  Roman  fountains, 
—whose  waters  are  said  to  possess  the  magic  power,  if 
drank,  of  insuring  one's  return  to  Rome.  Accordingly 
the  last  evening  of  our  stay  we  drink  at  its  brink, 
throwing  in  a  petty  coin, — one  of  the  conditions, — and 
so,  merely  with  an  au  revoir,  turn  from  the  delights 
of  R-ome  to  seek  "  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new." 


CHAPTER    V. 

NAPLES— POMPEII— VESUVIUS— P^STUM. 

NAPLES. 

Naples  is  most  beautifully  situated  upon  the  Bay 
of  Naples,  and  forms  a  semicircle  on  its  shores.  But, 
however  attractive  it  may  be  to  the  eye,  the  stranger  is 
impatient  to  digest  its  beauties  and  flee  to  some  North- 
ern Zoar ;  for,  having  a  very  defective  system  of  drain- 
age, its  air  is  often  burdened  with  impurity,  and  its 
scents  are  so  unsavory  as  to  be  at  times  unbearable. 

To  obtain  a  fine  view  of  the  city  and  its  delightful 
environs  we  ride  to  the  Church  of  San  Martino,  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  in  Italy.  It  is  built  upon  an  emi- 
nence of  one  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 
As  we  ride  higher  and  higher  the  view  widens,  and 
when  we  reach  the  church  a  beautiful  panorama  lies 
before  us.  Below,  and  stretching  out  on  every  side,  is 
Naples,  with  its  labyrinth  of  narrow  streets,  with  their 
passing  throng.  The  hum  of  voices  and  the  din  of 
city  life  have  become  so  blended  and  modulated  before 
the  waves  of  the  air  have  rolled  them  to  our  ear  that 
80 


NAPLES.  81 

they  greet  us  with  really  mellifluous  sound ;  fields, 
whose  surface  is  burdened  with  grain,  are  wooing  the 
sun's  rays  to  unfold  their  wealth;  while  vines  are 
wreathing  every  stalwart  tree,  fairly  concealing  sap- 
lings with  their  riotous  growth.  Beyond,  the  rippling 
waters  of  the  majestic  bay  gleam  in  the  sunlight,  the 
islands  of  Capri  and  Ischia  rising  boldly  from  their 
surface;  while  Vesuvius,  apparently  peaceful,  but  with 
torrents  of  wrath  foaming  in  her  bosom,  rises  danger- 
ously near.  Such  views  as  these,  we  believe,  nourish 
the  soul,  allaying  its  fretful,  restless  passions ;  giving 
its  aspirations  larger  breadth  and  more  elevated  tone ; 
impressing  it  with  a  profounder  appreciation  of  the 
Infinite,  through  the  revelation  of  His. power,  as  mani- 
fested in  these  works  of  His  hands.  It  was  a  rare 
treat  and  well  worthy  of  the  two  hours'  ride. 

The  church  is  a  perfect  gem  in  marble  and  rich 
decoration.  There  is  much  wooden  mosaic  curiously 
wrought  by  the  monks,  who  occupy  an  adjoining  mon- 
astery. One  of  the  order,  physically  a  noble  specimen 
of  manhood, — probably  chosen  on  that  account, — -is 
kneeling  upon  the  steps  of  the  altar,  mumbling  his 
prayers  and  manipulating  his  beads,  while  an  artist 
includes  his  figure  in  a  sketch  of  the  interior  of  the 
church. 

Visiting  another  church  one  day  we  are  surprised, 
nay,   more,  astounded,  on   approaching   the   altar,  to 

5 


82  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

see  the  several  priests  who  are  kneeling  around  it,  and 
are  apparently  absorbed  in  their  devotions,  suddenly  rise 
and  confront  us  with  faces  expressive  of  consternation. 
That  we  are  the  cause  of  their  perturbation  is  evident ; 
but  why?  For  many  years  we  have  been  mingling 
in  the  society  of  their  sex  without,  alas!  ever  having 
created  a  sensation.  Can  it  be  possible  that  our  mature 
life  is  to  be  crowned  with  a  social  success  denied  our 
youth?  Doubting,  and  much  mystified,  we  turn  in- 
quiringly to  our  intelligent  guide.  "  I  don't  understand 
it  myself,"  he  says  ;  "  but  I  will  inquire." 

Advancing  towards  the  priests,  he  speaks  a  few 
words,  when  several  of  them,  with  earnest  gesticulation 
and  significant  nods  towards  us,  relieve  their  minds, 
but  remain  standing,  as  if  awaiting  our  movements. 

The  guide  returns  and  says  that  they  assure  him  it 
is  impossible  to  continue  their  devotions  while  in  the 
presence  of  a  woman,  as  it  is  the  anniversary  of  the 
beheading  of  John  the  Baptist,  whose  head,  we  remem- 
ber, was  the  price  of  a  woman's  smile  and  favor. 

Indignantly  we  turn  away,  regretting  that  the  guide 
is  too  good  a  Catholic  to  repeat  to  them  our  remon- 
strance, based  upon  the  fact  that,  as  they  are  addressing 
their  prayers  to  one  of  our  sex, — the  Virgin  Mary, — we 
see  no  objection  to  the  visible  presence  of  another;  and 
that  had  they  the  chivalric  regard  for  us  entertained 
by  the  noble  of  their  own  sex;  they  would  find  inspira- 


NAPLES.  33 

tion  while  indulging  the  finest  feelings  of  their  spiritual 
natures,  in  the  living  presence  of  a  good  woman. 

The  streets  of  the  old  portions  of  these  Italian  cities 
are  so  narrow  that  when  a  vehicle  is  passing  through 
them  foot-passengers  must  seek  refuge  in  a  doorway  or 
hug  the  wall  closely,  and  even  then  their  toes  may 
project  a  little  too  far  and  be  trampled  upon.  One 
peculiarity  of  Neapolitan  life  is  that  the  lower  class  of 
people  live  out-doors  all  day,  seeming  only  to  enter 
their  houses  at  night.  Every  morning  the  dwellings 
are  turned  inside  out,  as  it  were,  the  people  performing 
many  of  their  domestic  duties  in  the  streets,  seeking 
the  sunshine  in  winter  and  early  spring  for  the  warmth 
it  gives.  This  custom  gives  the  streets  a  constantly 
crowded  appearance,  men,  women,  and  children  swarm- 
ing in  every  direction,  their  houses  but  burrowing- 
holes,  dark,  filthy,  and  crowded.  The  open  air  of  the 
street,  although  impure,  is  preferable,  at  least,  to  that 
of  their  dens,  and  it  must  be  to  this  fact  that  they  .owe 
their  health  and  their  life  even.  And  here  let  us  in- 
terpolate that  if  any  are  endowed,  or  afflicted,  perhaps 
we  might  say,  with  an  unusual  degree  of  refinement 
of  feeling,  particularly  if  they  are  of  morbidly  del- 
icate sensibilities,  we  advise  them  to  avoid  Naples  in 
their  travels.  Such  repulsive  phases  of  domestic  life 
could  scarcely  be  thrust  more  openly  upon  the  stranger's 
notice  than  here.     Domestic  life  in  its  finer  types  pre- 


84  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

sents  naught  but  charm,  but  in  its  lower  it  is  a  con- 
glomeration  of  coarseness  and  vulgarity.  Filth  and 
squalor  being  prominent  phases  of  Neapolitan  life, 
they  could  hardly  be  ignored  in  its  portrayal. 

Donkeys  are  universally  used  in  this  country,  as  they 
are  strong,  hardy,  capable  of  great  endurance,  and  eat 
little.  They  are  exceedingly  small,  some  of  them  not 
much  larger  than  a  large  dog,  and  one  feels  inclined 
to  fondle  them  as  they  would  a  canine  favorite.  We 
have  never  seen  but  one  instance  of  the  obstinacy  which 
is  thought  to  be  characteristic  of  the  species ;  it  was 
while  at  Genoa,  when  walking  through  one  of  the  nar- 
row streets  we  saw  some  men  striving  first  to  induce 
and  then  to  force  a  donkey  to  turn  around  and  be 
attached  to  a  cart.  The  little  fellow  held  his  own  well ; 
he  was  pushed,  pulled,  beaten,  kicked,  and  sworn  at, 
to  no  purpose.  At  length  in  despair,  and  probably  in 
remembrance  of  some  past  experience,  the  men  left  the 
wagon  and  the  mule  standing  mulishly  beside  it,  and 
sat  down  awaiting  a  change  in  his  mood.  We  have 
repeatedly  seen  little  donkeys  with  immense  quantities 
of  wood  strapped  on  and  around  them,  or  with  masses 
of  divers  vegetables,  which  so  completely  covered  them 
that  one  would  suppose  a  small  forest  or  market-garden 
had  become  animate  and  was  marching  forth  to  supply 
the  needs  of  the  cold  and  hungry;  until  impressed  by 
curious  doubts,  a  closer  inspection  would  be  made,  and 


NAPLES.  85 

with  some  difficulty  a  little  head  would  be  found  pro- 
truding at  one  end  and  the  swaying  stump  of  a  tail  at 
the  other. 

While  in  Naples  we  visit  the  Museum,  and  although 
it  contains  masterpieces  of  sculpture,  we  are  most  in- 
terested in  the  apartment  devoted  to  Pompeian  relics. 
There  are  blackened,  charred  loaves  of  bread  and 
cake  as  found  in  the  ovens,  perfect,  and  resembling 
the  modern  in  form ;  nuts,  figs,  coffee,  and  olives,  all 
retaining  their  shape,  but  black  as  ink;  cameo  sets, 
rings,  bracelets,  articles  of  clothing  and  of  housekeep- 
ing, among  others  a  pan  still  full  of  a  kind  of  polenta 
for  a  repast,  and  a  purse  found  in  the  grasp  of  an  ex- 
humed skeleton. 

"  Thou  hast  made  of  a  city  an  heap ;  of  a  defenced 
city  a  ruin ;  a  palace  of  strangers  to  be  no  city ;  it  shall 
never  be  built." — Isaiah  xxv.  2. 

We  visit  Pompeii,  its  ruins  being  one  of  the  most 
interesting  sights  in  Europe.  Many  walls  of  houses 
remain,  some  of  them  covered  with  frescoes  of  well- 
preserved  colors ;  many  fountains  and  statues  still 
stand,  and  recesses  covered  with  the  most  elaborate 
mosaics.  The  streets  are  in  regular  order,  their  curb- 
stones and  pavements  perfect,  the  marks  of  the  car- 
riage-wheels being  in  deeply-worn  ruts.  The  character 
of  the  stores  is  easily  defined,  not  only  by  the  signs, 
some  of  which  are  yet  traceable,  but  by  their  relics,  as 


gQ  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

ovens  in  the  bakers'  shops,  wheels  to  grind  the  grain, 
immense  jars  in  the  oil  and  liquor  stores,  and  in  the 
barber's  shop  the  stone  seat  for  the  customers  and  the 
niches  for  the  pomades.  In  the  theatre  are  the  seats 
of  stone,  the  Forum  also  being  easily  identified  by  its 
grand  columns,  standing  as  a  monument  of  the  skill 
and  opulence  of  former  days. 

But  the  most  thrilling  sight  in  this  excavated  city  is 
in  a  certain  little  room,  where  in  glass  cases  are  pre- 
served the  different  members  of  one  family,  all  en- 
crusted in  a  kind  of  lava,  and  in  positions  strikingly 
natural,  as  death  suddenly  overtook  them.  Two  chil- 
dren lie  together,  adhering  in  one  portion  of  their 
bodies,  the  feet  of  one  towards  the  head  of  the  other. 
The  father  is  partially  turned,  as  if  striving  to  free 
himself  from  the  inexorable  grasp  of  the  destroyer, 
while  the  mother  is  stretched  upon  her  back,  with  her 
head  on  one  side  and  one  limb  raised.  The  lavarous 
crust  upon  the  bodies  leaves  their  forms  defined,  but  in 
a  measure  enlarges  their  proportions. 

There  is  a  skeleton  standing  in  the  corner  grinning 
apparently  at  the  spectators,  showing  a  set  of  teeth 
of  faultless  color  and  shape.  The  guide  rather  grimly 
remarks  that  they  must  have  done  good  execution  with 
the  macaroni. 

We  are  shown  the  impression,  clearly  defined,  on  the 
wall  of  a  subterranean  passage,  of  the  faces  and  figures 


NAPLES.  87 

of  several  persons,  who  were  discovered  pressed  against 
it;  one  of  them  is  clutching  a  handful  of  jewels,  which 
she  had  caught  up  and  sought  to  fly  with  on  the  first 
note  of  warning.  But,  alas  !  they  were  doomed  to  find 
in  this  subterranean  refuge  their  death  and  sepulchre. 

The  impression  made  upon  one  is  very  peculiar  in 
wandering  through  streets  where  beauty  and  fashion 
once  displayed  their  charms;  through  the  once  busy 
marts  of  trade,  where  the  relics  of  art  still  remain ;  in 
the  salons  of  dancing  and  revelry,  which  are  still  gor- 
geous in  their  richly-colored  frescoes,  the  echoes  of 
youthful  gayety  and  mirth  seeming  still  to  linger  in 
the  air;  through  the  majestic  halls  of  the  Forum, 
where  Philosophy  and  Logic  held  the  pagan  ear ;  and 
in  the  Theatre,  in  whose  seats  we  could  fancy  the  assem- 
blage of  Pompeian  beauty  and  strength,  all  alike 
delighted  with  the  crude  representation  of  dramatic 
art. 

We  cannot  realize  that  this  is  the  partial  resurrection 
of  a  city  that  for  eighteen  hundred  years  has  been 
dead  and  buried,  but  it  seems  more  like  a  recently  de- 
serted village,  and  as  if  by  the  renovating  effects  of 
mechanical  skill  it  could  soon  be  rendered  habitable 
and  echo  again  with  the  sounds  of  busy  life. 

Herculaneum  is  far  less  interesting  than  Pompeii. 
We  are  led  down  a  flight  of  steps  and  are  introduced 
into  a  series  of  intricate,  dark,  subterranean  passages, 


83  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

which  are  lined  by  walls  of  intensely  hard  lava.  The 
Theatre,  with  many  of  its  seats  and  some  other  features, 
are  to  be  seen,  and  this  is  all.  It  reminds  us  of  the 
Catacombs  of  Rome.  Herculaneum  was  buried  by 
masses  of  lava,  which,  mixed  with  rain,  formed  a  thick 
conglomeration  very  difficult  to  penetrate ;  but  Pompeii 
was  destroyed  by  a  storm  of  dry  ashes  and  debris 
which  is  easily  removed,  even  with  its  accumulation  of 
centuries,  revealing  the  treasures  of  Pompeian  wealth 
and  art. 

We  have  often  read,  heard,  and  dreamed  of  Italian 
skies  as  being  unrivalled  for  beauty  and  glory,  but 
never  have  we  seen  any  to  equal  many  of  ours  until 
the  day  we  travel  by  rail  from  Naples  to  Rome.  The 
landscape  is  smiling  and  green ;  the  olive-trees  clothed 
with  vines ;  the  green  verdure  of  the  fields  picturesquely 
relieved  by  the  gay,  bright  costumes  of  the  peasantry 
as  they  turn  the  soil  with  their  rake  and  hoe;  the 
graceful  slopes  and  the  bold  promontories  of  the  Apen- 
nines, with  their  deep,  lingering  shadows ;  and,  above 
all,  the  most  heavenly  skies  that  one  could  imagine. 
Light,  fleecy  clouds,  with  banks  of  deep  gold  and 
crimson,  relieved  by  the  more  sombre  hues,  until  the 
broad  expanse  above  us  seems  a  sea  of  glory. 


VESUVIUS.  89 


VESUVIUS. 


A  most  adventurous  undertaking  is  that  of  the  as- 
cent of  Mount  Vesuvius.  Taking  a  carriage  at  Naples 
we  ride  to  the  Hermitage,  which  is  situated  some 
distance  up  the  mountain-side.  As  we  wind  up  the 
gentle  slope  we  are  surrounded  by  a  troop  of  infantry, 
which,  although  they  have  not  been  drilled  in  military 
tactics,  are  expert  at  the  "double-quick"  movement 
and  in  "  presenting"  hands  if  not  "  arms."  A  crowd 
of  these  youthful  beggars  besieges  us  until  we  arrive 
at  the  Hermitage,  where  we  enjoy  the  lunch  we  have 
brought  with  us.  After  it  we  take  horses,  which  are 
provided  for  the  short  ride  to  the  base  of  the  cone. 

During  an  eruption  the  crater  breathes  forth  a  fiery 
destruction  that  blasts  all  nature  within  reach  of  its 
exhalations,  vomiting  lava,  which  pours  down  the 
mountain-sides  congealing,  and  forming  billow-like 
irregularities,  black,  unsightly,  and  forbidding,  ren- 
dering most  of  the  region  round  about  sterile  and  un- 
inviting. And  yet  occasionally  there  appear  tiny 
oases  of  a  thin  superficial  coating  of  arable  soil,  where 
simple  wild-flowers,  as  if  in  pity,  offer  their  tribute 
towards  redeeming  the  scene  from  utter  desolation. 
It  is  said  that  during  an  eruption,  or  immediately 
subsequent  to  it,  "  there  is  such  an  abundance  of  rain, 
owing  to  the  mass  of  vapors  ejected  into  the  atmos- 

5* 


90  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

phere,  that  it  precipitates  itself  along  the  sides  of  the 
cone  in  actual  torrents,  charged  with  a  fine,  impalpable, 
volcanic  dust,  which,  carrying  with  them  a  fine  ashes, 
acquires  a  consistence  to  justify  the  name  given  to 
them  of  '  aqueous  lavas.'  w 

Alighting  from  the  horses  which  have  brought  us 
from  the  Hermitage  to  the  foot  of  the  cone,  we  each 
engage  two  guides  and  attempt  the  task.  A  herculean 
one  it  proves,  although  with  one  man  alternately  to 
pull  and  support,  and  another  following  in  the  rear  to 
push  gently  but  firmly.  The  soil  to  a  great  depth  is  of 
a  loamy,  yielding,  crumbling  nature,  that  gives  way 
under  the  pressure  of  the  foot,  seeming  to  give  impetus 
to  a  backward  movement  instead  of  allowing  an  ad- 
vance. An  hour  and  a  half  are  consumed  in  the  weari- 
some climbing,  which,  singularly  enough,  is  more  ex- 
hausting during  the  first  part  than  the  last.  Being 
novices,  and  not  having  learned  the  necessity  of  reserv- 
ing one's  powers,  we  put  forth  our  entire  strength  at 
the  outset,  soon  succumbing  to  a  fatigue  attended  by  a 
painful  difficulty  in  breathing,  which  threatens  to  inca- 
pacitate us  for  further  effort.  After  resting,  however, 
on  the  large  stones  which  nature  seems  to  have  pro- 
vided for  an  occasional  seat,  and  by  paying  strict  heed 
to  the  guides'  admonitory  advice,  we  pluck  up  our  cour- 
age, and  bearing  more  heavily  upon  our  wooden  and 
human  staffs,  "  taking  it  easy,"  we  make  slow  but  steady 


VESUVIUS.  91 

progress.  When  half-way  one  of  the  ladies  accepts 
an  earnestly  proffered  seat  on  the  shoulders  of  two 
guides,  who  unfalteringly  but  pantingly  bear  their 
precious  burden  up  the  "  Hill  Difficulty."  Had  Bun- 
yan  had  this  mount  in  his  mind  he  could  not  have 
more  vividly  portrayed  the  difficulties  and  dangers  to 
be  encountered  in  its  ascent.  Not  the  gates  of  the 
heavenly  city  loom  up  before  our  view,  however,  but 
rather,  as  we  near  the  goal,  volumes  of  smoke  im- 
pregnated with  sulphurous  fumes  warn  us  of  a  nearer 
approach  to  what  seems  more  like  the  mouth  of  the 
Inferno.  Indeed,  the  illusion  is  the  more  complete 
when,  on  reaching  the  summit,  we  look  down  into  the 
pit-like  crater  of  brimstone  and  fire,  into  the  very 
jaws  of  death.  Shall  we  descend  into  this  threatening 
abyss  whose  under-currents  are  in  perpetual  ferment? 
being  an  intense  fire,  whose  lurid  flames  occasionally 
shoot  their  fiery  tongues  through  forced  fissures.  As 
we  look  down  into  the  seething  basin,  waves  of  black 
lava,  here  and  there,  suddenly  redden,  dissolve,  and 
boil  over  as  if  from  a  surcharged  cauldron.  But  the 
American  spirit  of  dashing  enterprise  and  reckless 
venture  determines  the  question,  and  with  tremulous 
excitement,  clinging  to  our  trusty  guides,  we  descend 
into  the  literal  fiery  furnace.  The  heat  is  intense  and 
feels  scorching  as  its  breath  sweeps  our  cheeks,  while 
our  feet  must  be  kept  in  constant  motion,  skipping 


92  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

from  point  to  point,  to  avoid  the  burning  sensation 
produced  by  a  momentary  lingering  in  any  one  spot. 

Indeed,  we  must  have  watchful  eyes,  too,  as  without 
other  warning  than  a  faint  trembling  beneath  our  feet 
the  lavarous  crust  opens,  and  through  the  gaping  fis- 
sure flows  the  boiling  fluid,  which,  as  it  cools,  becomes 
a  hardened  billow  of  blackened  lava. 

In  a  distant  corner  is  a  large  mass  of  congealed  sul- 
phur, through  whose  occasional  apertures  issue  sulphur- 
ous fumes  of  the  deepest  orange,  blended  with  red, 
green,  and  mingled  colors,  beautiful  to  the  eye,  but,  as 
we  find  on  timidly  approaching,  are  almost  suffocating, 
and  would  be  overwhelmingly  so  in  the  midst  of  its 
variegated  cloud  and  vapor.  We  remember  that  the 
death  of  Plinv  the  Elder  was  attributable  to  this  cause. 

We  begin  the  descent,  gathering  many  specimens  of 
lava,  with  colors  as  numerous  as  those  in  a  paint-box, 
but  which  change  by  keeping  to  dingy  hues.  Finding 
at  each  step  our  limbs  embedded  in  the  soft,  yielding 
soil,  we  complain  that  the  effort  is  even  more  laborious 
than  that  required  in  the  ascent.  The  guides  exclaim, 
"  If  you  all  would  run  down  fast,  letting  us  support 
you  under  your  arms,  you  would  not  find  difficulty." 
And  so,  withholding  all  personal  exertion,  but  yielding 
ourselves  entirely  to  the  control  of  the  strong  men  at 
each  side,  we  are  assisted  easily  and  rapidly  over  the 
surface  of  the  precipitous  mountain  slope.     Indeed,  so 


PJESTUM.  9£ 

exhilarating  is  the  experience,  and  so  swiftly  are  we- 
guided,  that  amid  exceeding  mirth  and  merry  laughter, 
with  occasional  halts  "  to  catch  breath,"  we  accomplish 
the  descent  in  ten  minutes. 

A  visit  to  the  Observatory  is  made  very  interesting 
by  a  critical  inspection  of  the  exceedingly  delicate  in- 
strument through  which,  by  detecting  and  calculating 
the  vibrations  of  the  earth,  science  is  enabled  to  predict 
the  coming  of  an  eruption. 

A  PICNIC  AT  P^STUM. 

AVe  almost  hesitate  to  write  the  words,  so  incongru- 
ous  seems  any  feasting,  but  that  of  the  soul,  amid  some 
of  the  most  venerable  ruins  in  the  world.  Arrived  at 
Salerno,  we  find  it  a  fine  old  town,  situated  on  the  Bay 
of  Salerno,  half  encircled  by  the  Alban  Mountains, 
which  protect  it  from  "  the  rough  winds  of  Heaven" 
on  one  side,  the  swelling  bosom  of  the  blue  sea  ever 
pulsating  before  it.  The  principal  street,  which  follows 
the  shore,  is  very  long  and  full  of  lively  scenes,  pre- 
senting a  picture  of  Italian  life  only  to  be  seen  in  its 
completeness  in  a  town  of  Southern  Italy.  Almost 
every  phase  of  life  is  represented  as  we  drive  through 
the  town  at  eventide.  Human  life  swarms;  and  it  is 
only  by  the  repeated  cracking  of  the  postilion's  whip 
that  a  passage  can  be  effected. 

Groups  of  picturesquely-dressed  peasants,  their  gay 


94  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

colors  giving  brilliancy  to  the  scene;  tables  surrounded 
by  gesticulating  men,  with  their  bottle  and  convivial 
glasses  before  them ;  women  with  tightly-swaddled 
babes  in  their  arms ;  beggars  in  every  form  of  decrep- 
itude, and  in  a  squalor  almost  inconceivable;  rickety 
wagons,  absolutely  loaded  with  human  beings,  dashing 
through  the  crowds,  the  poor,  attenuated  beasts  goaded 
on  by  the  loud  and  dissonant  cries  of  their  drivers ;  and 
young  fops  with  swinging  canes  and  eyes  glancing  con- 
stantly up  to  the  balconies  above,  over  which  lean  their 
bright-eyed  friends;  women  of  the  better  class,  their 
heads  covered  by  black  lace  veils,  which  are  a  becom- 
ing setting  to  the  bronzed  faces  and  black,  sparkling 
eyes  of  the  wearers,  who  invariably  possess  a  fine  set 
of  pearly  teeth  ever  gleaming  from  ripe  lips, — charms 
which  are  foiled  by  the  strangely-wizened  faces  of  the 
aged  in  this  country.  What  a  scene !  and  how  often 
repeated  in  this  sunny  land,  where  houses  are  always 
deserted  and  the  streets  filled  with  gay,  merry  throngs 
at  this  twilight  hour ! 

Early  in  the  morning  we  take  a  carriage  for  Psestum, 
twenty-four  miles  distant,  driving  through  a  country 
very  sterile  and  uninteresting,  reaching  the  grand  ruins 
about  mid-day.  Not  with  frivolity,  "but  with  deep 
thoughtfulness,  do  we  approach  some  of  the  most  ancient 
as  well  as  magnificent  ruins  of  the  past.  They  con- 
sist of  three  Doric  temples,  the  most  imposing  of  which 


PJESTUM.  95 

is  the  Temple  of  Neptune.  The  situation  is  admirably 
adapted  to  the  imposing  structure,  for  grandeur  is 
heightened  by  isolation.  Nature  herself  seems  a  wor- 
shipper at  this  ancient  shrine;  deep,  ay,  profound  silence 
reigns,  only  broken  by  the  unequalled  music  of  nature's 
orchestra,  the  birds  seeming  to  revel  in  the  beauty 
around  them,  and  if  their  sweet  warblings  break  upon 
the  solemnity  it  is  a  relief  to  the  oppressive  influences 
of  the  scene. 

We  enter  the  Temple  with  slow  and  reverent  step ; 
its  only  roof  is  the  vault  of  heaven;  its  pillars,  honey- 
combed by  time,  enclose  us  in  their  quiet  majesty ;  and 
so  we  stand  in  rapt  communion  with  the  great  Past,  so 
eloquently  represented  by  this  architectural  conception. 
Three  continuous  stone  steps  surround  the  Temple,  from 
these  arise  the  six  columns  of  the  front  and  the  four- 
teen of  the  sides.  They  are  fluted  and  conical,  their 
circumference  being  smaller  at  the  top  than  at  the  base, 
and  this  delicate  graduation  is  very  effective  and  pleas- 
ing to  the  eye.  The  architectural  merit  is  unsurpassed, 
the  genius  of  Greece  finding  expression  in  this  marvel- 
lous structure.  Looking  aloft  from  the  interior  of  the 
Temple  upon  the  upper  blocks  of  stone,  we  witness  the 
union  of  modern  Flora  with  old  Neptune.  Closely 
entwined  is  he  by  the  graceful  tendrils  of  a  sweetly 
flowering  vine,  which,  being  a  spontaneous  tribute  of 
the  goddess  to  the  hoary  old  god,  is  the  more  effective. 


96  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

Seating  ourselves  on  the  reverend  stones  within  the 
Temple,  we  spread  our  meal  and  prepare  to  dine  under 
circumstances  more  novel  than  ever  before,  not  for- 
getting in  the  wine  of  the  country  to  drink  a  libation 
to  the  old  god  whose  temple  we  seem  to  be  desecrating. 
As  we  look  above  and  around  us  and  see  how  nobly 
this  grand  monument  has  withstood  the  bufferings  of 
storms ;  the  fury  of  tempests ;  the  "  peltings  of  pitiless 
rains ;"  the  fervid  heat  of  summers ;  and  all  the  com- 
bined eifects  of  time  and  the  elements,  we  resolve  that 
we,  with  our  human  souls,  will  strive  to  endure  the 
shocks  of  fate  and  the  sorrow  which  sometimes  rains 
upon  us :  resisting  all  the  adverse  influences,  which 
often  undermine  the  foundations  of  character,  just  as 
these  great,  grand  forms  have  conquered  the  effects  of 
ages,  retaining  not  only  their  pristine  strength,  but 
their  beauty  as  well.  We  leave  the  sacred  spot  know- 
ing that  never  again  will  our  eyes  rest  upon  its  won- 
ders, and  feeling  that  somewhat  of  its  grandeur  and 
beauty  are  reflected  upon  our  moral  nature. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

YENICE. 

"  Thy  borders  are  in  the  midst  of  the  seas,  thy  builders  have 
perfected  thy  beauty." — Ezekiel  xxvii.  4. 

Fair,  lovely  Venice,  the  queen  of  the  Adriatic,  is 
the  most  remarkable  city  we  have  visited,  its  very 
name  suggesting  all  that  is  unique,  poetical,  and  dreamy. 
How  surprising  to  eyes  which  look  for  the  first  time 
upon  buildings  rising  magic-like  from  the  sea,  instead 
of  gazing  upon  rolling  meadows  and  flowering  gardens, 
or  even  streets  where  rumbling  wheels  weary  the  ear ; 
to  look  ever  upon  the  rippling  tide  and  the  dropping 
and  lifting  of  the  active  oar  as  it  dips  into  the  water 
and  rises  vocal  with  sound !  Nor  does  the  interest 
of  the  novel  experience  wane  during  the  traveller's 
sojourn  here,  as  some  fresh  form  of  loveliness,  some 
new  feature  of  the  singular  scene,  constantly  greets 
the  eyes  that  are  on  the  alert,  and  ministers  to  the 
mind  that  is  receptive  to  new  delights,  through  new 
sensations. 

Venice  is  built  upon  a  cluster  of  seventy  or  eighty 

97 


98  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

islands,  connected  with  one  another  by  four  hundred 
and  fifty  bridges,  of  which  the  Rialto  is  the  grandest, 
consisting  of  a  single  arch  one  hundred  and  eighty- 
seven  feet  long  and  forty-three  wide.  The  effect 
of  this  fine  structure,  however,  is  marred,  if  not  de- 
stroyed, by  its  two  rows  of  rude  booths  or  shops, 
whose  stocks  are  adapted  only  to  the  trade  of  the  lower 
classes. 

Instead  of  streets  there  are  canals,  boats  instead  of 
carts,  gondolas  instead  of  coaches.  In  the  rear  of 
many  houses  there  are  passages,  but  too  narrow  for  a 
carriage,  no  horse  being  in  the  city.  The  doors  of  the 
buildings  open  upon  the  canals,  with  steps  leading  to 
the  boats.  According  to  an  ancient  law,  still  enforced, 
all  gondolas  are  painted  black.  The  law  was  made 
necessary  by  the  unbridled  extravagance  that  the  no- 
bility displayed  in  the  embellishment  of  their  water 
equipages.  Each  gondola  has  a  tiny  cabin  in  its  centre, 
its  cushions  and  all  its  appointments  being  of  the  same 
sombre  hue,  and  only  needing  a  recumbent  figure  to 
look,  for  all  the  world,  like  one  of  our  occupied  biers. 
The  gondola  resembles  our  row-boats,  is  somewhat 
longer,  and  is  ornamented  at  one  end  by  a  shining  steel 
prow.  This  flashing  in  the  sunlight  on  a  crowded 
canal,  where  the  gondolas  are  floating  side  by  side,  or 
are  skimming  by  one  another  with  rapid  motion,  adds 
much  to  the  beauty  of  the  scene.     The  gondolier  stands 


VENICE.  99 

on  the  narrow  edge  of  the  boat  at  one  end,  and  with  a 
graceful  bend  and  swaying  movement  of  the  body 
sends  his  little  craft  lightly  over  the  water,  turning  the 
corner  from  one  canal  into  another  deftly  and  with 
consummate  skill.  Each  gondolier  as  he  makes  these 
turns  with  his  noiseless  boat  utters  a  cry  of  warning, 
which  is  made  by  the  melodious  Italian  voice  so  wel- 
come to  the  ear  that  it  forms  one  of  the  delights  of  our 
ride. 

There  are  many  churches  rich  in  mosaics,  paintings, 
and  statuary,  but  the  most  remarkable  in  Venice,  and, 
indeed,  one  of  the  most  so  in  the  world,  is  St.  Mark's, 
that  conglomeration  of  many  types  of  architecture,  but 
chiefly  perhaps  Byzantine.  The  exterior  of  the  church 
is  very  Oriental  in  its  style,  the  roof  being  covered 
with  what  appear  to  be  little  mosques,  making  the 
tout  ensemble  very  striking.  The  interior  is  brilliant 
with  mosaic,  the  groundwork  of  the  ceiling  being  in 
gold.  The  marbles  which  compose  the  columns  are  of 
various  colors,  and  are  wonderfully  beautiful.  The 
altar  is  inlaid  with  precious  stones,  and  so  profuse  is 
the  whole  building  in  the  display  of  gorgeous  color 
and  rich  material,  and  so  pronounced  are  the  traces 
of  its  antiquity,  that  one  may  well  stand  in  wondering 
admiration  before  this  relic  of  the  magnificence  of  the 
old-time  regime.  In  the  "  Square  of  St.  Mark,"  which 
is  five  hundred  and  seventy-six  feet  long  and  two  hun- 


100  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

dred  and  sixty-nine  in  greatest  width,  and  near  the 
venerable  church,  stands  the  Campanile,  from  whose 
summit  we  have  a  fine  view,  and  opposite  is  the  "  Torre 
dell'  Orologio,"  with  a  large  clock,  two  bronze  figures 
striking  the  hours  upon  the  bell. 

St.  Mark's  Church,  with  all  its  mosque-like  cupolas; 
its  many  arches  one  above  another ;  its  famous  bronze 
horses,  which  stand  outside  the  portico,  the  ancient 
Campanile  rearing  its  majestic  height  near  by;  the 
arcade  enclosing  the  paved  square ;  gay  throngs  filling 
the  many  cafes,  and  sauntering  along  the  broad  prom- 
enade, while  on  the  smooth  stones  of  the  centre  are  the 
pigeons,  whose  variegated  plumage  is  made  brilliant  by 
the  rays  of  the  noonday  sun.  So  gentle,  domestic,  and 
tame  have  these  city  pets  become  through  regular  feed- 
ing that  they  will  voluntarily  perch  upon  the  extended 
hand  or  upon  the  shoulder  of  a  stranger  and  partake 
of  the  crumbs  or  corn  offered  them.  The  pigeons 
flock  in  such  numbers  that  they  almost  cover  the  square, 
forming  a  bright  picturesque  feature  of  a  mid-day  scene 
in  this  famous  spot;  indeed,  one  of  the  curious  sights 
of  Venice  is  the  feeding  of  them  at  two  o'clock  every 
day.  Many  years  ago  an  old  lady  died  leaving  a 
legacy  to  be  appropriated  to  their  support.  Some  ten 
years  since  we  witnessed  the  pretty  scene  enacted  each 
day.  And  again  during  a  recent  visit  we  find  the 
custom   still   in   vogue,  much   to   the   amusement  of 


VENICE.  101 

strangers,  who  seldom  fail  to  be  present  at  the  accus- 
tomed hour,  lightening  the  official's  task  by  their 
personal  aid. 

The  Doge's  Palace  stands  at  one  side  of  the  church, 
and  is  full  of  historical  and  artistic  interest.  On  as- 
cending the  imposing  staircase,  we  are  shown  many 
apartments  whose  associations  with  the  political  history 
of  Venice  make  them  very  attractive.  Their  walls  are 
lined  by  large  allegorical  pictures  by  the  old  masters, 
portraying  the  glory  and  power  of  the  Republic.  Pro- 
ceeding to  the  upper  story,  our  eyes  fall  upon  the  aper- 
ture, on  one  side  of  the  door,  leading  into  the  Inquisi- 
tor's chamber,  where  letters  of  secret  denunciation 
were  formerly  deposited.  The  lion's  head,  in  whose 
mouth  the  letters  were  dropped,  has  disappeared. 
Here  again  are  series  of  salons,  whose  paintings  and 
carved  ornamentation,  particularly  that  which  sur- 
rounds the  mammoth  fireplaces,  testify  to  the  former 
opulence  of  a  government  which  provided  for  its  rulers 
such  palatial  luxury  and  wealth  of  art.  We  are  ushered 
into  a  room  which  in  olden  times  was  hung  in  black, 
and  was  the  scene  of  the  secret  tribunal  of  the  Council 
of  Ten.  Through  a  narrow  passage  the  condemned 
was  led  forth  to  a  death,  to  be  effected  with  the  same 
secrecy  and  expedition  that  had  characterized  his  mock 
trial. 

We  are  invited  to  explore  the  recesses  of  the  prison, 


102  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

connected  with  the  Palace  by  the  "  Bridge  of  Sighs/' 
whose  commemorative  verses  by  Byron,. 

"  I  stood  in  Venice,  on  the  bridge  of  sighs," 

are  as  familiar  as  household  words.  It  is  even  fright- 
ful to  inspect  these  dungeons,  which,  we  are  happy  to 
learn,  have  not  been  occupied  since  the  seventeenth 
century.  Small,  dark,  dank  cells,  with  only  an  inclined 
board  to  supply,  in  cruel  mockery,  the  place  of  a  bed. 
The  cell  of  the  condemned  often  proved,  tradition 
tells  us,  the  scene  of  the  death  of  the  criminal,  for, 
from  its  immediate  juxtaposition  to  the  waters  below, 
the  dampness,  almost  palpable,  engendered  disease 
which  in  mercy  deprived  the  executioner  of  his  victim. 
Outside  of  this  cell,  in  one  of  the  thickly- walled  pas- 
sages, is  the  dread  spot  where  the  condemned,  did  he 
chance  to  survive  his  fearful  incarceration,  was  hung ; 
and  when  dead,  was  easily  slipped  down  an  inclined 
plane  into  the  dark,  silent  waters  below.  So  all  traces 
of  these  judicial  murders  were  buried  secretly  from  the 
sight  of  the  outside  world.  !No  wonder  that  the  estab- 
lishment of  this  satanic  Council  of  Ten  was  one  of  the 
causes  of  the  downfall  of  the  aristocratic  power  of  the 
imposing  Republic  of  Venice.  Indeed,  what  govern- 
ment can  be  permanent,  however  brilliant  its  success, 
reaching  even  the  zenith  of  a  mid-day  splendor,  whose 
building  is  not  of  a  righteous  foundation  and  its  laws 


VENICE.  103 

based  upon  justice  and  equity?  And  so,  with  other 
adverse  circumstances,  this  demoniac  power  subtilely 
undermined  a  prosperous  nationality ;  a  glory  which 
knew  few  peers  sinking  beneath  the  waves  of  time. 

A  row  on  the  Grand  Canal  presents  to  our  view  a 
series  of  palaces  with  which  there  are  connected  many 
pleasant  reminiscences.  The  Palace  Morodin  falling 
into  the  possession  of  the  Moro  family  is  said  to  have 
given  one  Doge  to  the  Republic.  He  is  thought  by 
some  to  have  been  the  hapless  lover  of  Desdemona. 
The  Palace  Mocenigo  is  where  Byron,  in  the  society  of 
the  beautiful  Countess  G.,  wrote  the  first  cantos  of 
"  Don  Juan"  and  some  other  poems.  In  the  Palace 
Barbarigo  Titian  once  lived,  to  whose  memory  a  noble 
monument  has  been  erected  in  one  of  the  churches. 
It  is  embellished  with  statues  and  with  bas-reliefs  of 
,his  works.  The  last  picture  painted  by  this  wonderful 
artist,  "The  Entombment,"  is  in  the  same  salon  with 
his  famous  painting  of  "The  Assumption."  With 
what  tremulous  hand  must  he  have  wrought  upon  this 
last  work  !  and  how  appropriate  the  subject,  as  it  pre- 
figured his  own  rapidly  approaching  dissolution  !  Al- 
though ninety-nine  years  of  age  his  "  right  hand  had 
not  forgot  its  cunning,"  for  upon  this  celebrated  picture 
wTas  he  working  when  death  arrested  his  hand. 

Upon  a  neighboring  island  is  the  famed  Armenian 
monastery  where  the  unhappy   Byron  sought  refuge 


104  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

temporarily  from  his  worst  enemy, — himself.  But, 
alas !  his  restless  spirit,  grown  morbid  through  sensi- 
bilities painfully  acute,  and  goaded  by  a  conscience  too 
delicately  organized  to  become  deadened  by  his  life  of 
unholy  license,  failed  to  secure  the  peace  it  sought. 

Although  his  sins  were  chiefly  the  outgrowth  of  an 
entire  absence  of  respect  for  woman, — and  we  believe 
that  reverence  for  her  is  the  rudder  which  helps  to 
steer  a  man's  soul  into  the  heavenly  port, — yet  what 
woman  can  refuse  her  pity  to  him  whose  naturally 
warm,  generous  impulses  might  by  a  fond,  judicious, 
maternal  hand  have  been  early  directed,  and  pruned  of 
all  riotous  growth?  Warmed  by  a  mother's  sunny 
smile,  watered  by  her  tender  tears,  they  might  have 
grown  into  noble  traits,  which,  through  their  very 
elements,  if  subdued  and  modified,  would  have  en- 
riched his  own  and  others'  lives. 

This  man  of  brilliant  genius,  but  with  an  undisci- 
plined moral  character,  with  tendencies  belonging  to 
rich  emotional  natures,  right  in  themselves,  only  unfor- 
tunate in  their  rank  luxuriance  and  criminal  in  their 
unrestrained  indulgence,  was  forced  to  exclaim,  in  bit- 
terness of  spirit, — 

"  I  am  eating  the  fruit  of  the  tree  I  planted." 
He  sought  the  quiet  asylum  of  a  monastic  life,  within 


VENICE.  105 

sight  of  lovely  Venice  and  within  the  sound  of  her 
pleasant  waters,  but 

"  The  mind  is  its  own  place,  and  in  itself 
Can  make  a  Heaven  of  Hell,  a  Hell  of  Heaven." 

So  amid  scenes  of  apparently  holy  calm,  with  naught 
in  outside  influences  to  ruffle  the  spirit's  serenity,  lie 
found  that  the  tempest  of  passion  in  his  soul  was  only 
allayed,  and  after  a  temporary  lull  threatened  to  break 
forth  into  thunder  and  storm.  The  monks  tell  now 
how  earnestly  he  strove  to  adopt  their  habits,  and 
through  these  external  influences  to  minister  peace  and 
consolation  "to  a  mind  diseased."  After  a  few  months* 
retirement  within  the  shade  of  this  secluded  life,  dis- 
couraged, he  returned  to  the  glare  and  heat  of  a  dissi- 
pated career. 

Venice  and  moonlight  should  be  inseparable  in 
reality,  as  they  are  in  imagination.  How  chaste  its 
light  as  it  beams  upon  the  wondrous  city !  How  beau- 
tiful are  the  queenly  palaces  rearing  their  tall  forms 
against  the  evening  sky,  the  classic  towers  standing  out 
in  bold  relief,  graceful  minarets  piercing  the  air,  noble 
churches  throwing  their  shadows  on  the  moonlit 
waters !  How  exquisite  the  silvery  sheen,  mingling 
with  the  blue  of  the  waves,  all  things  below  seeming  to 
reflect  the  beauty  of  night's  grand  illuminator  !  How 
soft  and  mellow  the  voices  of  the  serenaders  who  con- 


106  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

stantly  float  by,  or  linger  beneath  the  casements  to  win 
their  well-earned  reward,  which,  wrhile  the  ear  is  rav- 
ished by  their  rich  tones  and  sweet  airs,  is  not  grudg- 
ingly given !  We  leave  the  window  out  of  wrhich  we 
have  leaned,  our  very  senses  beguiled,  and,  slipping  out 
of  the  rear  door  of  our  hotel,  emerge  into  the  narrow 
street.  In  all  directions  there  are  little  alley -like  pas-, 
sages,  whose  every  house  is  sending  forth  its  inmates, 
all  wending  their  way  to  the  grand  Venetian  rendez- 
vous, St.  Mark's  Square.  We  enter  it  with  the  crowd 
of  pleasure-seekers.  It  is  enclosed  on  three  sides  by 
fine  buildings,  the  upper  portions  of  which,  connected, 
form  the  residence  of  the  king,  occupied  by  him  when 
he  visits  the  city,  the  lowest  story  being  a  series  of 
stores,  which  make  a  brilliant  display  of  jewelry  and 
other  tempting  articles. 

The  chairs  of  the  numerous  cafes  are  mostly  occupied, 
and  we  find  some  difficulty  in  obtaining  several,  with 
a  table,  where  we  may  sit  and,  with  toothsome  ices  be- 
fore us,  enjoy  the  brilliant  scene.  In  the  midst  is  a  fine 
regimental  band,  pouring  from  the  mouths  of  many 
brass  instruments  the  soul-stirring  strains  of  martial 
music.  Ladies  with  black  lace  veils,  picturesquely 
arranged  on  their  dark  hair,  fastened  with  showy 
arrow  or  bright  flower;  the  gaudily-dressed  flower- 
girl  with  very  high-heeled  slipper,  which  peeps  forth 
from  the  short  skirt,  her  hair  elaborately  coiffured,  her 


VENICE.  107 

cheeks  ruddy  with  paint,  her  eyes  brightened  with  de- 
sire to  captivate,  her  basket  of  tiny  nosegays  swung 
coquettishly  on  her  arm,  tripping  here  and  there,  fol- 
lowed by  many  a  jest  from  her  masculine  customers ; 
the  brilliant  uniform  of  gay  officers;  the  clatter  of  their 
trailing  swords ;  the  eager  voices  of  the  vehement  for- 
eigners, which,  with  their  accompanying  gesticulations, 
give  life  and  vivacity  to  the  occasion. 

Although  delighted  with  this  phase  of  Venetian  life 
we  shift  the  scene,  by  walking  through  the  neighbor- 
ing Piazetta  to  the  waiting  boats,  and  stepping  into  an 
open  one,  for  the  night  is  serene  and  all  the  influences 
inexpressibly  lovely,  we  yield  ourselves  up  to  a  sen- 
suous delight,  the  more  intense  because  of  its  novelty. 
The  experience  is  one  of  unequalled  enchantment. 
The  twinkling  gaslights  of  the  buildings  which  border 
our  course  are  doubled  by  their  quivering  reflections 
in  the  waters  below;  gondolas  with  their  red  and  blue 
lights  glancing  here  and  there  in  every  direction  give 
a  brilliant,  variegated  hue  to  the  atmosphere,  and  in- 
deed to  the  element  beneath  us.  Many  parties  glide 
by ;  the  air  is  rich  with  melodious  song,  which  seems 
re-echoed  in  the  refrain  of  voices  wafted  dreamily  to 
us  from  a  distance. 

We  recline,  and  lazily  watch  the  swaying  of  the 
oarsmen,  who,  bending  low,  rise  with  grace,  seeming 
never  to  weary,  always  sustaining  the  poetry  of  mo- 


108  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

tion;  the  green  festoons  of  seaweed  clinging  to  the 
lifted  oar,  sparkling  with  liquid  pearls  or  diamonds; 
the  churches  rising  from  the  waves ;  palaces  looming 
up  above  the  waters ;  and  pretty  young  faces  leaning 
over  balconies  that  are  green  and  bright  with  many- 
hued  flowers.  So  we  float  insensibly  down  the  tide, 
the  splash  of  the  dipping  oars  like  "  drops  of  music" 
to  the  enchanted  senses;  the  soft  notes  of  warning 
breaking  upon  the  sweet  evening  air. 

We  seem  in  a  delicious  dream,  gliding  noiselessly  on, 
propelled  by  some  unseen  power;  for  our  boatman 
stands  in  the  rear  and  so  guides  our  long,  narrow  bark 
unseen.  It  moves  as  if  by  magic,  adding  to  the  illu- 
sion that  we  are  in  fairy-land,  all  the  surroundings 
contributing  to  the  births  of  fancy. 


CHAPTER    VII. 
MILAN— LAKE  COMO. 

MILAN. 

Milan,  a  large,  prosperous,  and  affluent  city,  its 
buildings  fine,  modern,  and  spacious,  giving  elegance 
to  streets  broad  and  light,  impresses  one  with  its 
cleanliness,  brightness,  air  of  comfort,  and  opulence. 
Although  containing  much  of  exceeding  value  in  sou- 
venirs of  ancient  and  modern  art,  and  although  the 
course  for  driving  and  promenading,  and  the  public 
gardens  for  lounging,  are  unusually  attractive,  yet  the 
magnet  which  draws  the  world  hither  is  the  famed 
Duomo,  or  Cathedral.  As  we  stand  before  it  we 
think  it  must  be  a  crystallized  dream,  for  the  magic 
architect  who  fills  girlish  visions  with  beauty,  by  erect- 
ing palaces  of  delight,  and  even  in  the  dreamland 
through  which  the  thoughts  wander  in  mature  life, 
with  structures  of  almost  impossible  splendor,  dazzling 
eyes  whose  practised  vision  demands  brilliant  colors 
and  grand  proportions  to  satisfy  wider  desires,  seldom 

finds  a  rival  in  real  life;  for  the  imagination  is  more 

109 


110  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

boundless  in   its  realm   than   is  the  capacity  of  the 
actual. 

The  Cathedral,  after  St.  Peter's,  is  the  largest  in 
Italy,  exceeding  all  others  in  the  rare  beauty  of  its 
fret- work  and  intricate  and  delicate  tracery  in  carving. 
Built  of  white  marble,  its  exterior  is  absolutely  daz- 
zling. It  is  adorned  by  one  hundred  and  six  pinna- 
cles and  four  thousand  five  hundred  statues;  the 
dome  surmounted  by  a  tower,  on  whose  apex  is  a 
gigantic  statue  of  the  Virgin  in  bronze.  We  realize 
now  the  full  significance  of  the  poet's  meaning  when 
she  pronounces  architecture  to  be  "frozen  music." 
Such  harmony,  such  darting  of  beauty  from  every 
point  seem  to  penetrate  the  soul  with  that  delicious 
content  that  springs  often  from  the  inception  into  our 
thought  and  sense  of  some  prolonged  strains  of 
melody,  whose  every  note  reverberates  through  the 
innermost  recesses  of  our  being. 

The  length  of  the  Cathedral  is  four  hundred  and 
ninety  feet,  its  breadth  two  hundred  and  ninety-eight; 
and  while  its  foundations  appear  stable,  broad,  and 
enduring,  the  upper  portion  is  the  embodiment  of 
grace,  pinnacles,  like  exhalations,  rising  from  every 
point.  We  enter;  shall  we  be  disappointed?  Amazed 
by  the  beauty  and  grace  of  the  exterior,  we  almost  fear 
to  find  a  nearer  view  less  gratifying.  We  stand  within 
one  of  the  finest  temples  "made  with  hands"  in  the 


MILAN.  HI 

world ;  but  hands  that  were  endowed  with  a  skill 
seldom  equalled.  Supported  by  fifty -two  pillars  of 
seventy  feet  in  height  and  eight  in  diameter,  its  form 
is  that  of  a  Latin  cross.  The  interior  abounds  in 
statuary,  paintings,  and  the  most  gorgeous  stained  glass, 
the  three  large  windows  behind  the  choir  depicting  three 
hundred  scriptural  scenes;  their  colors  of  ruby  and 
blue  of  such  remarkable  beauty  that  our  eyes  con- 
stantly seek  them  as  sources,  in  themselves,  of  the 
most  artistic  delight.  We  sympathize  with  Ruskin's 
thought  when  he  declares  that  "  of  all  God's  gifts  to 
the  sight  of  man,  color  is  the  holiest,  the  most  divine, 
the  most  solemn ;"  to  us,  embodying  thoughts  or  emo- 
tions "too  deep  for  tears."  The  love  of  color  may  be 
a  sensuous  taste,  as  is  that  of  odor,  but  that  it  awakens 
dormant  sentiment  who  can  doubt?  While  gazing 
upon  brilliant  tints  in  the  sky  or  upon  those  that  dye 
the  flowers  of  the  field,  it  may  be  thoughts  of  the  In- 
finite who  planned  and  originated  their  beauty  that 
move^  our  spiritual  sense ;  but  when  looking  upon  a 
simple  dash  of  gorgeous  color  on  a  more  prosaic  object, 
or  as  seen  in  many  of  the  stained  windows  in  the  grand 
cathedrals  of  Europe,  who  shall  say  that  under  its  spell 
a  harsh  mood  has  not  been  softened,  irritation  soothed, 
and  apathy  won  into  the  active,  warm  exercise  of  the 
heart's  best  emotions?  And  we  believe  that  it  is 
through  this  and  the  kindred  tastes  of  music  and  odor 


1J2  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

— as  in  the  incense — that  the  sentiment  of  worship 
in  these  Romish  churches  is  developed  and  stimulated. 

There  is  something  magnificent  in  loftiness,  and  as 
we  walk  beneath  a  dome  two  hundred  and  eight  feet 
in  height,  enclosed  within  columns  colossal  in  size,  we 
experience  sensations  approaching  awe,  with  a  realiza- 
tion of  physical  littleness  that  would  effectually  ob- 
literate any  exaggerated  sense  of  self-importance. 

Near  one  of  the  altars  is  a  bronze  candelabrum 
representing  a  tree  inlaid  with  precious  stones.  It  is 
a  relic  of  the  thirteenth  century. 

Under  the  choir  is  the  vault  of  St.  Carlo  Borromeo. 
He  was  a  count  of  an  ancient  Milanese  family,  and 
nephew  of  Pius  IV.  From  his  earliest  youth  he  was 
rigidly  pious  and  severe  in  self-discipline.  Having  a 
large  share  in  the  civil  government,  he  also  accom- 
plished much  for  the  papal  authority,  effecting  by  his 
great  influence  the  results  of  the  Council  of  Trent. 
As  archbishop  of  Milan  he  established  many  noble 
institutions  and  was  unwearied  in  good  works.  Dying 
at  the  age  of  forty-six,  he  was  canonized  some  years 
after ;  his  embalmed  body  dressed  in  pontifical  robes, 
which  are  richly  and  profusely  studded  with  precious 
gems,  was  placed  in  a  crystal  sarcophagus.  The  dis- 
play of  rare  workmanship  and  of  immense  jewels  is 
surprising.  The  crosiers  and  mitre  are  of  great  value 
and  beauty,  while  the  sarcophagus,  which  is  supported 


MILAN.  U3 

by  ornaments  of  wrought  silver,  bears  the  cross  in 
heavy  gold  of  Philip  IV.  of  Spain,  who  presented  it. 
Indeed,  the  body  of  the  saint  is  covered  with  gifts 
from  crowned  heads  and  of  the  nobility.  The  ceiling 
of  the  vault  is  inlaid  with  tablets  of  silver,  representing 
the  prominent  events  in  the  life  of  the  celebrated  pre- 
late, particularly  of  his  self-sacrificing  efforts  to  assuage 
the  sufferings  of  the  sick  and  dying  during  the  plague 
of  1576. 

Not  far  from  the  choir  stands  a  marble  statue  as 
remarkable  in  execution  as  it  is  striking  in  conception. 
It  is  that  of  St.  Bartholomew  represented  as  flayed, — the 
entire  skin,  retaining  the  form  of  the  still  living  body, 
hangs  over  his  shoulder.  The  sculptor  has  proved  his 
skill  by  making  the  representation  so  curiously  real  as 
to  be  almost  shocking  to,  at  least,  feminine  sensibilities. 
It  is  comforting  to  know,  however,  that  it  is  a  work  of 
the  imagination,  as  history  assures  us  his  death  was 
effected  by  crucifixion. 

To  obtain  a  more  accurate  idea  of  this  wonderful 
Cathedral  and  to  enjoy  an  experience  very  novel  in  its 
character,  we  accede  to  the  proposition  of  the  guide 
to  ascend  to  the  roof,  and  there  wander  through  its 
labyrinthine  foot-paths  amid  statues  innumerable ;  pin- 
nacles of  Gothic  form  covered  with  fret- work ;  spires 
jutting  everywhere;  and  towers  and  ornaments  in  great 
variety.  The  whole  roof,  "a  multiform  unit,"  is  corn- 
er 


114  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

posed  of  flat  blocks  of  white  marble,  the  long  spaces 
of  devious  way  varied  by  occasional  successions  of 
steps.  A  long  journey  before  we  are  bidden  to  halt 
and  gaze  upon  a  view  well  worth  the  effort  made  to 
obtain  it.  There  lies  the  city  in  the  midst  of  a  fertile, 
pleasant  plain ;  the  river  Olona  gliding  by,  the  Alps 
hovering  near,  and  the  Apennines  looming  up  in  the  far 
horizon.  It  is  a  strange  situation,  roaming  on  the  lofty 
top  of  a  building  so  broad  and  so  intricate  in  its  wind- 
ings as  to  excite  the  fear  of  being  lost  amidst  its  forest 
of  marble  spires. 

One  of  the  most  ancient  churches  we  have  visited  is 
that  of  Sant?  Ambrogio.  The  marble  pulpit,  which  is 
itself  deserving  of  studious  attention,  is  said  to  be  the 
same  as  that  from  which  St.  Ambrose  preached  A.D. 
387.  Among  many  curious  and  antiquated  relics  of 
ages  gone  by  are  the  missals,  held  in  sacred  keeping 
and  shown  only  by  a  priest,  who  himself  turns  their 
precious  pages.  Dating  from  the  twelfth  century,  they 
are  written  on  parchment,  very  legibly,  and  even 
beautifully.  At  the  beginning  of  each  chapter  are 
many  sketches  brilliantly  illuminated  in  rich  colors. 
The  young  priest  who  displays  these  treasures  to  us  in- 
vites scrutiny.  Drooping  shoulders  and  an  ungainly 
figure  deprives  him  of  much  physical  advantage,  but  a 
keen,  intelligent  eye,  and  smile  so  bright  and  sunny 
that  it  can  even  lighten  priestly  gloom,  helps  to  re- 


MILAN.  115 

deem  other  deficiencies.  Discovering  our  ignorance  of 
his  native  tongue,  he  meets  us  on  common  ground  in 
the  French,  through  whose  airy  medium  his  lively 
sense  of  the  ludicrous,  his  ready  wit  and  rich  fund  of 
information  make  sparkling  and  piquant  his  comments 
upon  the  pictured  ornamentations  of  the  missals  and 
other  odd  features  of  the  ancient  church.  On  a  pillar 
of  porphyry,  near  the  centre  of  the  church,  a  brazen 
serpent  is  twined,  rearing  its  frightful  head  aloft.  It 
is  affirmed  that  the  common  people  consider  this  the 
identical  serpent  which  Moses  held  up  in  the  desert, 
inviting  the  gaze  of  the  Israelites  that  they  might  be 
healed.  It  is  also  believed  among  them  that  at  the  end 
of  the  world  this  serpent  will  hiss.  Pointing  to  this 
brazen  representation,  our  priestly  guide  explains  that 
many  think  this  is  the  veritable  serpent  of  the  wilder- 
ness, but,  with  a  contemptuous  shake  of  the  head,  he 
declares  the  belief  to  be  the  outgrowth  of  "superstition, 
superstition"  Associating  priestly  reticence  and  rigidity 
of  manner  with  the  sect  he  represents,  we  are  surprised 
by  his  great  affability  and  communicativeness,  and 
much  amused  by  his  evident  ignoring  of  the  masculine 
element  of  our  party  and  his  devotion  to  the  fairest  of 
the  other  sex,  giving  earnest  invitation  to  repeat  the 
visit,  when  he  with  pleasure  will  again  act  as  our 
cicerone.  So  gentlemanly  is  his  mien  that  we  feel 
some  awkwardness   in   proffering  the  usual  gratuity, 


HQ  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

and  he,  too,  feels  some  embarrassment,  as  on  receiving 
it  he  volunteers  the  unusual  explanation  that  it  shall  be 
devoted  to  the  poor. 

In  the  former  refectory  of  the  Dominican  convent 
belonging  to  the  church  Santa  Maria,  is  Leonardo 
da  Vinci's  most  famous  painting,  "  The  Last  Supper." 
Under  the  blighting  effects  of  time  this  justly  cele- 
brated picture  had  become  much  faded  and  marred. 
But  its  ruin  was  almost  consummated  when  Napoleon 
I.  taking  possession  of  Milan,  the  convent  was  trans- 
formed into  barracks ;  its  refectory,  containing  one  of 
the  art-gems  of  the  world,  being  used  as  a  stable  for 
horses.  We  cannot  believe  that  Napoleon,  such  a 
lover  of  the  arts  as  to  be  thievingly  covetous  of  their 
treasures,  transporting  them  from  every  city  he  con- 
quered to  Paris,  and  there  proudly  displaying  them 
as  trophies  of  war,  could  have  known  "to  what  vile 
use  had  come  at  last"  this  apartment,  made  sacred  by 
the  marvellous  representation  of  one  of  the  most 
pathetic,  solemn,  and  sublime  scenes  in  our  Saviour's 
human  experience. 

The  fresco  covers  one  entire  end  of  the  large  room, 
rewarding  even  in  its  partial  obliteration  and  impaired 
beauty,  repeated  visits.  Leonardo,  it  is  said,  concen- 
trated his  thought  for  two  entire  years  upon  the  manner 
in  which  best  to  depict  on  the  face  of  Judas  the  abject 
meanness,  the  consummate  depravity,  the  devilish  per- 


LAKE  COMO.  117 

fidy  of  his  heart.  Perhaps  the  world  is  indebted  to 
the  fact — in  moral  view  to  be  deplored — of  his  enter- 
taining vindictive  hatred  to  the  prior  of  the  convent, 
which  sought  gratification,  by  giving  to  his  features  the 
satanic  expression  of  our  Lord's  betrayer.  If  this  be 
a  fact,  it  would  seem  that  the  existence  of  malignity  in 
the  heart,  may  endow  with  inspiration  the  hand  that 
strives  to  give  it  outward  expression. 

LAKE   COMO. 

Perhaps  we  draw  too  heavily  upon  our  imagination, 
and  should,  if  challenged,  be  unable  to  substantiate 
our  belief,  when  we  think  that  there  are  localities  as 
adapted  to  the  various  mental  conditions  as  others  are 
to  the  physical.  Nature,  with  a  tact  and  power  inim- 
itable, has  brought  together  certain  elements,  not  always 
tangible, — but  perceptible  to  the  senses, — to  bear  upon 
the  changing  moods  which  characterize  our  imperfect 
humanity.  These  are  more  noticeable,  perhaps,  in  our 
sex  than  in  that  more  rugged  one,  whose  blunter  sensi- 
bilities make  it  more  invulnerable  to  the  many  in- 
fluences that  vibrate  upon  the  chords  of  the  feminine 
heart.  Should  this  thought  be  resolved  into  a  fact, 
would  not  the  lofty,  rugged  mountain  ranges  of  Swit- 
zerland be  most  congenial  to  the  strong,  undaunted 
courage  of  the  brave-hearted;  its  heights  struggling 
heavenward,  in  sympathy  with  the  aspirations  of  the 


118  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

ambitious  soul ;  its  frosty  air  and  rough  winds  adapted 
to  the  temperament  of  those  to  whom  softness  or  gen- 
tleness of  spirit  is  a  stranger,  and  who  find  in  them 
a  semblance  to  the  stormy  passions  that  sweep  through 
their  own  hearts?  But  to  those  whose  nature  is  the 
nestling  place  of  tender  emotions,  dreamy  thoughts, 
and  brooding  fancies,  how  much  that  favors  its  growth 
and  grants  it  sweet  indulgence  is  there  in  the  very 
atmosphere,  seeming  filled  with  poetry,  of  the  balmy 
land  of  Italy,  in  its  soft,  fleecy  clouds,  and  in  the 
manifold  influences  which  nature  holds  in  her  keeping ! 

We  first  look  upon  Lake  Como  in  June,  the  love- 
liest of  months,  and  on  one  of  its  loveliest  days, 
through  whose  bright  hours  the  sun  has  shone  un- 
wearied ly,  but  with  a  fervor  tempered  by  the  breezes, 
which  have  caught  freshness  from  the  waters  as  they 
skim  over  them.  The  very  name  of  the  lake  implies 
beauty,  or  is  it  that  we  have  always  so  associated 
beauty  with  Lake  Como  that  its  name  has  grown  to 
be  synonymous  with  it  ?  However  that  may  be,  when 
the  word  Como  falls  upon  our  ear  or  meets  our  eye  on 
printed  page,  there  is  a  scene  of  beauty  and  charm 
floating  before  us  that  seems  could  only  be  borne  on  the 
wings  of  dreamy  fancy. 

The  lake  is  at  the  foot  of  the  Alps,  the  mountains 
extending  around  and  above  it  to  the  height  often  of 
eight  or  nine  hundred  feet.     Most  of  them  are  clothed 


LAKE  CO  MO.  119 

in  a  mantle  of  green,  with  growth  of  tree  and  shrub, 
while  others  are  wearing  proudly  their  robes  of  purest 
snow.  In  the  boat  that  is  taking  us  to  Bellagio,  sit- 
uated at  a  point  which  is  midway  of  the  lake  and  where 
its  beauty  seems  to  culminate,  we  are  reminded  that 
there  is  something  in  the  scenery  singularly  adapted 
to  the  languid  mood  which  has  settled  upon  us.  A 
languor  that  is  not  the  lassitude  which  is  the  offspring 
of  an  enfeebled  condition,  or  the  accompaniment  of 
disease, — one  of  its  most  trying  features, — but  that 
state  of  being  when  all  disturbing  causes  having  been 
banished,  the  mind  is  in  perfect  repose,  a  soft  dreami- 
ness flooding  the  soul,  allowing  the  gentle  thought  to 
flow  without  let  or  hindrance.  Drifting  along  in  lux- 
urious content,  one's  individuality  fades  out  into  a  state 
of  utter  negation,  which  is  ofttimes  one  of  placid  en- 
joyment. Nature,  here,  is  in  sympathy  with  the  mood. 
Inertia  seems  to  have  been  the  principle  on  which  these 
exquisite  scenes  have  been  planned.  All  about  us  is 
suggestive  of  rest.  The  line  of  ponderous  peaks  which 
forms  the  background  hints  to  us  of  a  more  rugged 
experience  beyond,  but  the  present  is  hedged  in  by 
influences  relaxing,  softening,  and  soothing.  The  hills 
incline  in  gentle  undulations  toward  the  lake,  greeting 
it  with  sunny  slopes  studded  with  bright-eyed  flowers ; 
the  face  of  the  sweet  waters  on  which  we  glide  break- 
ing into  dimples ;  beautiful  villas  on  its  borders,  their 


120  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

gardens  proving  the  prolificness  of  the  clime  by  masses 
of  bloom,  blossom,  and  clustering  vines;  the  skies 
above  assuming  a  softness  and  tenderness  that  suggest 
the  fancy  that  they  are  but  the  fleecy  veil  that  half 
conceals  the  angel  faces  beaming  upon  this  lower  world. 
The  zephyrs,  so  deliciously  sweet,  may  be  their  breath 
wafting  blessings  to  us.  The  "glorious  piles"  of 
mountain  peaks,  whose  snowy  heads  are  often  painted 
by  the  rays  of  the  sun  with  a  creamy  golden  hue,  or 
with  colors  beautifully  suggestive  of  rose  and  crimson. 
Some  so  concealed  by  ambient  mist  that  we  can  scarce 
tell  where  their  outline  ceases  and  the  sky  begins,  the 
lofty  summits  of  those  in  the  distance  seeming  to  re- 
pose upon  the  billowy  bosom  of  the  clouds;  these 
giants  in  nature,  like  the  strong  in  human  life,  seeking, 
Samson-like,  to  recline  upon  a  lesser  strength ! 

A  marked  peculiarity  of  this  famed  and  beautiful 
lake  is  its  graceful  irregularity.  Often  we  imagine 
ourselves  at  its  terminus,  apparently  shut  in  by  tower- 
ing hills  and  bordering  meadows,  until  suddenly  a 
silvery  flowing  pathway  opens  to  us  new  views  of  such 
beauty  as  in  Lake  Como  reaches  the  acme  of  natural 
charm.  The  trip  is  a  succession  of  sweet  surprises; 
nor  is  it  strange  that  they  should  remind  us  of  their 
counterpart  in  life's  experiences.  How  often  does  the 
soul  seem  environed  by  apprehensions  and  by  perplex- 
ing cares ;  fate  shutting  it  in  to  a  gloom  from  which 


LAKE   CO  MO.  121 

light  seems  effectually  secluded ;  no  opportunity  pos- 
sible for  escape  from  what  appears  inevitable !  But 
unexpectedly  the  clouds  of  adversity  disperse,  the 
glorious  beams  of  the  sun  flood  the  darkened  soul, 
showers  of  divine  mercy  refresh  the  weary  spirit,  and 
joy  comes  in  bright  array  ! 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

SWITZERLAND. 

Switzerland,  with  its  wonderful  passes  and  lovely 
valleys,  is  to  us  as  yet  an  unexplored  Canaan.  We 
anticipate  with  eagerness  the  pleasure  we  know  to  be 
in  store  for  the  lover  of  nature.  We  have  brought 
with  us  a  rich  sauce  for  the  feast,  in  an  enthusiasm 
which  will  give  relish  to  all  that  is  to  be  spread  before 
our  vision.  It  has  ever  been  our  conviction  that  this 
attribute  of  the  soul,  this  sentiment  of  the  heart, 
which  we  call  enthusiasm,  is  a  requisite  to  the  full 
enjoyment  of  life  and  beauty.  It  is  inspiring;  it  is 
the  energy  with  which  the  soul  recognizes  and  digests 
the  richest  meaning  of  the  powers  of  nature ;  whereby 
the  mountains  excite  deep  veneration,  the  flowers  of 
the  field  convey  u  mysterious  truths,"  and  the  heavenly 
bodies  speak  to  us  in  illuminated  texts.  Life — who 
can  deny  it  ? — is  so  full  of  the  chilling  prose  of  reserve ; 
so  formal  in  its  manifestations  ;  so  commonplace,  shal- 
low, and  artificial  in  many  of  its  phases,  that  we  find 

an  earnest  sentiment,  true  feeling,  or,  in  other  words, 
122 


SWITZERLAND.  123 

a  well-disciplined  enthusiasm,  gives  a  warm  impulse 
to  the  currents  of  life;  and  while  it  enriches  the 
nature  from  which  it  emanates,  sheds  a  reflected  glow 
upon  other  and  colder  natures. 

Endowed,  then,  with  this  joy-giving  sentiment,  we 
are  prepared  to  read  upon  the  inspired  pages  of  nature 
the  grand  truths  which  she  would  reveal  to  her  own 
children.  ~No  interpreter  is  needed,  as  her  language  is 
a  universal  one.  On  the  Alpine  heights  we  read  the 
title  of  her  works,  "  Excelsior" ;  and  in  her  valleys,  the 
sweet  humility  which  adds  grace  and  beauty  to  the  soul 
of  God's  creating.  We  discover  nature's  treasures  to 
be  more  satisfying  than  are  the  gems  of  art;  the  former 
revealed  to  us  in  Switzerland,  the  latter  in  Italy. 

Riding  in  the  "  diligences"  over  the  passes  of  Swit- 
zerland is  one  of  the  principal  and  most  delightful 
features  of  travel  in  that  country.  The  element  of 
danger,  always  prominent, — although  creating  less  fear 
in  some  than  in  others,  according  to  the  individual 
temperament, — adds  much  to  the  exciting  interest  of 
the  experience.  Indeed,  all  the  circumstances  are 
refreshingly  novel.  The  position,  perhaps  never  be- 
fore assumed,  on  the  top  of  the  lumbering  coach  is 
in  itself  amusing.  The  peculiar  gurgling  sound  that 
the  driver  makes  in  urging  his  trusty  animals  to 
greater  speed  is  as  characteristic  as  the  warning-cry  of 
the  Venetian  gondolier.     The  prolonged  crack  of  the 


124  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

whip  as  it  whizzes  around  the  ears  of  the  horses,  who 
know  by  long  experience  that  its  sound  is  more  threat- 
ening than  its  touch  is  painful,  is  almost  as  stimu- 
lating to  the  passenger's  spirits  as  it  is  to  the  horse's 
pace.  Then  the  wonderful  panorama  that  flits  by  our 
delighted  eyes  as  we  dash  on  our  course,  keeping  every 
sense  on  the  qui  vive  lest  some  choice  bit  of  nature, 
some  chef-d'oeuvre  of  her  master-hand,  shall  escape  our 
eager  attention. 

The  little  town  of  Coire  is  situated  very  prettily  in 
the  fertile  valley  of  the  Signe  Caddie.  Here  we  take 
the  diligence  for  St.  Moritz  by  the  Albula  Pass. 

On  ascending  the  mountain-side  we  are  afforded  dis- 
tinct views  of  the  pleasant  little  village  we  have  left. 
So  comfortably  secure  does  it  seem  in  its  quiet,  secluded 
nook ;  so  free  from  the  noisy  bustle  of  distant  cities, 
naught  but  the  soothing  ripple  of  its  gentle  river ;  so 
peaceful  and  content  in  its  natural  shelter  of  high  hills, 
that  we  wonder  if  we  shall  not  regret  the  indulgence 
of  our  ambition  to  scale  the  dizzy  heights  beyond,  and 
find  that  the  first  estate  was  more  desirable  than  the 
elevation  toward  which  we  are  aiming.  But  the  vil- 
lage is  soon  lost  to  view,  as  early  joys  are  to  memory, 
by  subsequent  experiences,  and  our  thought  and  at- 
tention are  absorbed  by  the  varied  scene  before  us. 
Prodigious  mountains,  by  their  side  hills  which  seem 
like  lambs  lying  down  by  the  lion;   modest  streams 


SWITZERLAND.  125 

flowing  beneath  the  heavy  shadows,  leaving,  feminine- 
like,  their  influence  of  beauty,  although  so  quietly 
exerted ;  chalets  on  the  mountain  peaks, — do  their  oc- 
cupants think  to  make  their  transit  from  this  earthly 
to  their  heavenly  home  less  difficult  and  long  ? — cas- 
cades leaping  from  immeasurable  heights  to  our  feet; 
terrific  gorges  gaping  beside  us ;  the  bells  on  the  horses 
jingling  merrily  while  they  prance  gayly  on,  as  if  in- 
different to  the  fact  that  one  false  step  would  plunge  us 
into  the  fathomless  abyss  on  whose  very  edge  we  are 
driving.  Even  when  several  thousand  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  sea  we  pass'  small  Alpine  villages,  and 
sometimes  a  single  chalet.  The  smoke  from  its  roof 
curling  gracefully  in  and  out  among  the  dark  foliage, 
indicating  the  presence  of  a  house,  is  always  associated 
in  our  minds  with  domestic  comfort  and  content,  af- 
fording a  text  for  a  dream  of  the  home-life  warmed  by 
its  fires.  The  clouds  of  this  glorious  day  are  resplen- 
dent ;  'tis  "  the  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky,"  a  harmo- 
nious union.  The  heavens  shed  a  bright  beauty  and 
light  upon  field,  tree,  and  hill-top ;  and  the  earth,  grate- 
ful for  these  happy  gifts,  responds  by  reflecting  the 
charms  of  its  own  inherent  beauty.  Banks  of  fleecy 
clouds  sink  low  on  the  mountain's  side,  just  as  beauty 
droops  its  graceful  form  or  head  upon  the  ample  breast 
which  loves  to  shelter  it.  The  snow -tipped  mountains 
lift  their  pure  crowns  on  high,  as  if  to  offer  them  to 


126  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

heaven's  acceptance.  Little  graveyards  full  of  touch- 
ing memorials  of  the  dead  occupy  sunny  slopes,  for 
even  in  this  pure  air  death  comes  to  all.  Frowning 
rocks,  black  and  threatening ;  mountains  densely  cov- 
ered with  the  darkest  green  foliage ;  others  lying  in 
their  shroud  of  snow,  on  a  line — although  higher — 
with  those  that  are  decked  with  the  culminating  rich- 
ness of  midsummer's  verdure. 

At  times  we  wend  our  way  through  narrow  defiles, 
and  on  emerging  a  scene  dawns  upon  our  view  such  as 
would  develop  enthusiasm  in  a  soul  which  had  never 
before  thrilled  with  the  glorious  emotion.  Again  the 
scenery  changes ;  a  pall  seems  to  have  fallen  upon  the 
face  of  nature.  All  is  weird,  dreary,  and  barren.  The 
air  burdened  with  a  weight  intangible,  penetrates  our 
souls,  and  we  sigh  in  sympathetic  heaviness  of  spirit ; 
soon  again,  however,  we  dash  into  a  new  experience, 
full  of  gladness  and  beauty.  Ah  !  there  is  in  life,  too, 
but  a  step,  often,  between  the  sombre  and  the  bright, 
the  dull  and  the  gay.  We  pass  through  many  pic- 
turesque villages,  whose  surrounding  meadows  are  deep 
in  bloom.  Often  do  we  wade  through  masses  of  varie- 
gated blossoms,  treading  upon  flowers  as  we  had  never 
dreamed  of  doing,  literally. 

We  discover  that  many  hamlets  cluster  around  a 
large,  majestic-looking  town-pump.  It  is  the  medium 
through  which  the  simple-hearted  villagers  offer  hos- 


S  WITZERLA  ND.  127 

pitality  to  thirsty  Alpine  tourists.  At  its  ample  trough, 
too,  the  beasts  of  burden  slake  their  thirst;  but  its 
most  picturesque  use  is  when,  as  the  public  wash-tub, 
it  is  surrounded  by  housewives  who  bend  together  over 
their  tasks.  Their  native  costumes  now  show  off  to 
advantage,  as  with  bared  arms  they  rub  and  rub,  sea- 
soning their  efforts  with  much  spice  of  tongue.  What 
opportunity  for  gossip !  Surely  the  same  nature  ani- 
mates these  Alpine  folk,  living  midway  between  the 
sea-level  and  the  clouds,  as  inspires  their  sisters  in  our 
own  land  over  the  sea ! 

While  crossing  over  the  Simplon  we  meet  with  an 
unusual  experience.  The  severity  of  the  preceding 
winter  has  manifested  itself  in  vast  accumulations  of 
snow,  which,  falling  from  the  lofty  heights  above, 
obstructed  the  roads  so  seriously  as  to  render  them  im- 
passable. Under  the  magic  touch  of  the  frost-king 
this  has  become  at  one  point  a  glacier  of  ice.  As  the 
material  prosperity  of  this  country,  in  a  considerable 
degree,  is  dependent  upon  the  influx  of  strangers  who 
yearly  travel  over  its  great  mountain  passes,  it  was 
thought  expedient  to  tunnel  a  passage  through  the  ice, 
and  this  having  been  successfully  accomplished,  we 
attempt,  a  week  later,  to  penetrate  its  frosty  length. 
Before  entering  we  instinctively  halt,  as  if  to  summon 
fortitude  for  an  encounter  with  the  ice-king.  A  mo- 
ment later  and  we  are  encircled  by  walls  and  vault 


128  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

of  crystal,  for  it  shines  and  glitters  with  a  dazzling 
purity.  The  air  is  cold  and  chilling,  and  as  we  gather 
our  mantles  closer  about  us  a  reserve  creeps  over  the 
party,  not  a  word  being  spoken  during  the  ten  minutes 
occupied  in  making  the  transit,  although  the  majority 
are  ladies!  Who  can  tell,  but  at  any  moment  we 
may  be  crushed  and  buried  by  falling  masses  of  ice? 
Emerging  from  our  ice-bound  passage,  we  ride  many 
miles  farther  between  lofty  walls  of  snow,  a  road 
having  been  dug  out  at  great  trouble  and  expense.  On 
reaching  the  summit  of  the  pass,  we  rest  a  while  at  the 
"  New  Hospice,"  so  called,  which  was  founded  by 
Napoleon  I.  More  than  fifteen  thousand  travellers  are 
entertained  here  every  year,  and  are  expected  to  leave 
a  gratuity.  It  is  a  spot  of  peculiar  dreariness,  subject 
all  the  year  round  to  falls  of  snow ;  its  altitude  being 
six  thousand  five  hundred  and  ninety-four  feet  above 
the  sea-level.  The  building  is  very  large,  plain,  and 
substantial.  Built  of  stone,  it  resists  successfully  the 
assaults  of  the  elements,  to  which,  from  its  elevated 
position,  it  is  greatly  exposed.  Deep  gorges  yawn 
before  it,  while  on  every  side,  either  near  or  remote, 
"Alps  rise  on  Alps."  For  many  consecutive  months 
the  "Hospice"  is  inaccessible,  and  here,  "cribbed, 
cabined,  and  confined,"  is  a  forlorn  company  of  monks. 
We  enter  the  building  from  curiosity,  but  find  its  cold, 
cheerless  walls  and  stone  floors  more  repelling  than  the 


5  W1TZERLAND.  \  29 

outside  desolation,  for  there  the  blue  sky  looks  friendly, 
and  somewhat  redeems  the  barren  gloom  and  frigid 
isolation  of  the  scene.  A  monk  with  smiling  face  dis- 
penses the  wine,  which,  in  this  country,  is  so  simple  in 
its  nature  that  it  merely  "  cheers  and  not  inebriates." 
With  great  compassion  we  contemplate  his  circum- 
stances and  those  of  his  fellows.  His  face  is  irradiated 
with  smiles,  it  is  true,  but  are  they  not  due  to  the 
pleasure,  a  temporary  one,  of  renewing  his  intercourse 
with  a  world  from  which  the  rigorous  severity  of  his 
religion  has  shut  him  out?  He  is  evidently  enjoying 
the  warm,  reviving  influences  brought  from  the  busy 
scenes  far  down  below  the  clouds,  in  which  he  shivers 
out  his  youth  and  early  manhood.  We  wonder  why 
any  creed  should  assume  that  asceticism  which  banishes 
from  the  heart  the  glow  that  Heaven  meant  should 
illumine  it !  Why  not  take  for  its  model  the  religion 
which  inculcates  "mercy  and  not  sacrifice;"  which  does 
not  encourage  the  ignoring  of  those  domestic  ties  which 
humanize  men's  natures,  and  kindle  in  their  souls 
emotions  that  have  something  of  angel-light  in  them? 
Paul,  the  great  expounder  of  our  faith,  declared,  it  is 
true,  that  he  preferred  a  life  of  celibacy,  and  hinted  at 
the  disadvantages  of  the  married  state ;  but  would  not 
he  have  been  happier  if  a  Mrs.  Paul  had  lightened 
his  sorrows  by  sharing  them ;  brightening  the  gloom 
which  inevitably  shadows,  at  times,  such  grand  souls 

7 


130  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

as  his,  by  a  love  full  of  feminine  tenderness  and  tact? 
Perhaps  she  might  have  plucked  from  his  "flesh"  that 
mysterious  "  thorn"  to  which  he  pathetically  alludes, 
or  at  least  have,  through  fond  sympathy,  mitigated  its 
smart ! 

We  think,  then,  while  looking  over  the  cheerless 
apartments  and  empty  corridors  of  this  monastic  abode, 
that  were  domestic  influences  allowed  here,  an  inviting, 
home-like  air  would  make  attractive  what  is  now  really 
repelling;  and  that  the  Alpine  wanderer  would  then 
turn  with  grateful  word  and  more  eager  step  to  bide 
the  morning  sunrise  by  an  ingle,  made  the  cheerier 
for  a  woman's  kindly  greeting  and  children's  bright 
smiles.  Believing  with  Victor  Hugo,  that  "  the  double 
life  is  the  happy  one,"  we  wish  that  every  self-deny- 
ing laborer  in  God's  vineyard  was  a  happy  Benedict 
and  a  pater- familias. 

Studying  nature  during  these  wonderful  drives,  we 
enjoy  drawing  the  parallel  between  it  and  the  human 
nature,  whose  prototype  it  is;  finding  in  its  mighty 
heart  much  that  is  in  unison  with  the  throbbing  pulses 
of  humanity,  and  so  close  a  similarity  to  the  workings 
and  manifestations  of  the  female  nature,  that  we  claim 
the  justness  of  its  title  to  the  feminine  gender.  To  be 
sure,  in  its  strongest  types,  when  it  rises  to  majestic 
forms,  which  masterfully  overshadow  the  smiling  land- 
scape ;  when  with  overwhelming  force  it  pours  in  thun- 


S  WITZERLAND.  131 

dering  cataract  or  impetuous  torrent  down  the  mountain- 
side, conquering  the  sweet  valleys  by  its  floods;  or  when, 
in  mighty  tempest,  it  sweeps  through  the  land,  claim- 
ing; in  its  victorious  march  the  more  delicate  forms  of 
tree,  shrub,  and  flower  as  its  trophies ;  or  when,  in  the 
sublime  power  of  the  ocean,  it  bears  heavy  fleets  in  its 
strong  embrace,  and  cements  continents  indissolubly,  it 
seems  to  lose  its  feminine  character ;  yet  we  remember 
that  in  the  feminine  sex  there  are  exceptional  cases,  in 
which  masculine  elements  of  character  are  conspicuous, 
the  gentler,  lovelier,  and  milder  types,  however,  pre- 
dominating. 

Nature  has,  in  its  bright,  fair  aspects,  many  that  are 
analogous  to  the  phases  of  womanly  character  and  feel- 
ing, and  others  that  correspond  to  the  general  experi- 
ence of  life. 

When  during  our  Alpine  journeys  we  reach  a  higher 
plane,  we  are  surprised  by  the  quick  transit  of  a  passing 
cloud,  followed  by  the  falling  of  a  momentary  shower, 
and  then  a  dazzling  sunlight  that,  making  prisms  of 
the  drops,  fills  the  sky  with  added  beauty;  so,  often 
have  we  seen  in  the  highest  types  of  female  organiza- 
tion a  soft  shade  of  sadness  steal  into  the  eye,  succeeded 
by  the  shedding  of  gentle  tears,  which,  even  as  they 
flow,  are  brightened  by  sunny  smiles.  Tearful  eyes 
are  often  the  outlook  of  a  soul  of  deepest  sensibility 
and  tenderness,  as  the  fervid  sky  of  a  summer  day 


132  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

often,  burdened  with  warmth,  relieves  itself  by  a  gentle 
shower.  Then,  too,  while  looking  upon  nature  from  a 
level  stand-point,  we  have  compared  it  to  a  casual  view 
of  woman's  nature.  How  little  does  a  superficial  ob- 
server realize  the  depth  and  capacity  of  her  soul ;  its 
self-sacrificing  devotion ;  the  wealth  of  its  emotions ! 
But  as  we  approach  nearer  and  penetrate  its  recesses,  we 
are  reminded  of  the  fertile  valleys  whose  depths  reveal 
so  much  of  charm.  Their  pure  crystal  lakes, — which 
reflect  the  skies,  God's  throne, — whose  borders  are 
fringed  with  forget-me-nots,  symbols  of  fidelity ;  lilies 
of  the  valley,  types  of  innocence  and  purity  ;  and  with 
starlike  flowers,  suggestive  of  heavenly  aspirations. 
The  soil  of  these  deep  valleys  is  like,  in  richness,  a 
true  woman's  soul,  abundantly  rewarding  him  who 
would  probe  to  its  depth  and  test  its  resources. 

In  tracing  the  analogy  we  do  not  forget  the  occa- 
sional wayward  moods  of  nature ;  when  squalls  arise, 
sometimes  sudden  and  always  disagreeable ;  deranging 
the  sweet  order  of  meadows  and  gardens,  the  home  of 
flowers.  Spiteful  rain-drops  falling  from  angry  clouds, 
obscuring  the  smile  of  the  sun ;  cold  breezes  chilling 
the  atmosphere.  Can  many  lives  boast  an  entire  ex- 
emption from  similar  experiences?  Do  not  dismal 
rains  of  sorrow  and  pain  sometimes  beat  against  the 
home  of  our  emotions, — the  heart, — sighing  winds 
echoing  through  its  darkened  chambers?     Sometimes 


S  WITZERLAND.  1 33 

shrieking  blasts  bursting  its  doors,  uprooting  the 
sweet  growth  of  blooming  affections,  destroying  every 
bud  of  promise;  its  secret  recesses  resounding  with 
groanings  and  wailings  of  human  misery. 


CHAPTER    IX. 
CHAMOUNI— GENEVA— CHILLON. 

CHAMOUINT. 

"  Mont  Blanc  is  the  monarch  of  mountains. 
They  crowned  him  long  ago 
On  a  throne  of  rocks,  in  a  robe  of  clouds, 
"With  a  diadem  of  snow." 

The  Valley  of  Chamouni  is  celebrated  not  only  for 

its  inherent  beauty,  but  for  its  juxtaposition  to  its 

majestic  neighbor,  Mont  Blanc.     We  are   introduced 

to  his  majesty,  and,  looking  up  to  the  hoary  head,  are 

filled  with  reverence  for  what  bears  upon  its  noble  brow 

the  stamp  of  sovereignty,  its  presence  indicating  vast 

superiority  to  the  august  members  of  his  suite  who 

cluster  around  him.     The  glacier,  formed  by  the  snow 

which  falls  from  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc,  lies  on 

its  side,  revealing  to  unaccustomed  eyes  some  of  the 

curious  and  interesting  features  of  this  freak  of  nature. 

Its  undulated  and  crystallized  surface  is  like  a  palette 

on  which  the  sun,  the  greatest  of  colorists,  mixes  at 

morn  and  eve  his  richest  dyes. 
134 


CHAMOUNI.  135 

Establishing  ourselves  at  the  Hotel  d'Angleterre,  at 
Chaniouni,  we  take  donkeys  and  guides  and  start  one 
morning  on  an  excursion  to  the  Mer  de  Glace.  Cross- 
ing the  little  bridge  in  front  of  the  hotel,  we  jolt  on  in 
a  devious  path  some  distance  before  beginning  the  as- 
cent. Soon  after  a  very  fine  view  of  the  valley,  with 
the  imposing  line  of  opposite  mountains,  opens  to  us, 
and  as  we  ride  higher  and  higher  on  our  zigzag 
course  the  panorama  extends  and  widens,  discovering 
to  us  a  long  stretch  of  the  valley,  with  its  fertilizing 
stream  dividing  the  double  range  of  mountains.  At 
length,  after  a  toilsome  pull  for  the  poor  donkeys, 
whose  backs  have  often  been  weighed  down  by  Amer- 
ican burdens,  we  stop  abruptly  on  the  edge  of  a  steep 
declivity  and  look  upon  dazzling  masses  of  snow  and 
ice.  Their  dense  accumulations  suggest  the  rigors  of 
a  Polar  scene.  A  sea  is  indeed  before  us,  but  it  is  as 
if  its  life's  flow  had  been  suspended,  its  currents  con- 
gealed ;  as  if  the  o'erlapping  waves  had  been  arrested 
in  the  midst  of  tumultuous  activity.  As  though  the 
Divine  mandate,  "  Peace,  be  still,"  had  been  uttered 
during  a  "great  storm  of  wind;"  when  the  waves, 
lashed  into  fury,  hearing  suddenly  the  only  voice  which 
could  still  them,  had  instantly  calmed,  before  smoothing 
the  deep  furrows  ploughed  into  their  angry  surface. 
The  ice  is  of  a  greenish  hue,  the  color  adding  to  its 
effectiveness.     The  extreme  end  of  the  Mer  de  Glace, 


136  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

at  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  is  called  the  Glacier  des 
Bois.  At  the  upper  extremity  it  forms  two  branches, 
bearing  different  names ;  these  are  prominent  adjuncts 
to  a  really  hyperborean  scene,  affording  to  the  scientist 
varied  phenomena  for  study  and  solution. 

The  members  of  another  party,  a  company  of  pe- 
destrians, cross  the  Mer  de  Glace  and  pursue  a  cir- 
cuitous route.  Constantly  ascending,  they  soon  come 
to  the  famous  "Mauvais  Pas,"  which  consists  in  the 
rounding  of  a  jutting  rock,  on  a  pathway  made  on 
its  face,  as  it  were.  All  would  instinctively  ejaculate 
a  prayer  and  consign  themselves  to  a  higher  power, 
for,  while  hemmed  in  by  a  gigantic  rock  on  one 
side,  a_very  Chary bdis  yawns  on  the  other,  ready  to 
engulf  them  should  their  feet  slip.  We  are  almost 
enclosed  within  bulwarks  of  massive,  towering  rocks, 
at  whose  base  a  sea  once  flowed,  but  which  now,  with 
dumb  eloquence,  invokes  the  wandering  attention  of 
all  beholders.  So  we  sit  in  happy  security,  following 
through  powerful  glasses  the  progress  of  the  bolder 
party  as  they  wend  their  ghostly  way  over  the  crystal- 
like sea. 

How  dwarfed  they  appear  in  the  distance  below  us  ! 
but  as  they  gradually  ascend  a  height  parallel  and  equal 
to  our  own,  with  bated  breath  we  watch  their  passage 
over  the  perilous  spot  with  name  of  ominous  sound, — 
"Mauvais   Pas."      They   have   reached  it!    a   guide 


CHAMOUNI.  137 

preceding,  extends  his  hand,  which  is  grasped  by  a  Mr. 
Faintheart  or  a  Miss  Timorous,  who  are  won,  through 
much  coaxing,  round  the  curve.  We  shout  our  con- 
gratulations and  breathe  freer,  as  we  rise  and  prepare  to 
mount  our  donkeys,  to  return  to  the  little  village  of 
Chamouni,  which  nature  seems  to  have  taken  under  its 
strong  protection,  by  building  about  it  ramparts  of 
rocks  and  mountains. 

As  we  descend  the  declivities  which  we  have  so  re- 
cently climbed,  we  find  ourselves  often  in  danger  of 
doing  so  in  a  manner  at  once  indecorous  and  dangerous, 
— head  first.  The  clouds  have  gathered  and  broken 
in  a  drenching  shower,  but  when  we  are  midway  on 
our  journey  the  sun  bursts  forth  and  gives  us  a  glad 
welcome  to  our  village  resting-place,  and  so  continues 
to  bless  us  until  we  bid  farewell  to  the  peaceful,  pictu- 
resque vale  of  Chamouni. 

In  reviewing  the  experience  we  are  reminded  of  its 
analogous  bearing  upon  many  situations  in  life.  There 
are  often  crises  in  men's  histories  when,  through  combi- 
nations of  circumstances,  they  find  their  temporal 
prosperity — and  perhaps  their  spiritual  welfare  is  in- 
volved— dependent  upon  escape  from  a  threatened 
disaster.  Should  they  bridge  the  gulf,  their  lives  will 
"  lead  on  to  fortune,"  and  it  may  be  their  eternal  in- 
terest, also,  be  insured ;  but  should  they  fail  to  reach 
the  visible  goal  by  a  fatal  false  step,  they  are  compro- 


138  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

mised  and  engulfed  in  irredeemable  ruin.  Heaven  is 
watching  the  conflict,  and,  perchance,  one  of  its  minis- 
tering angels  in  human  guise,  with  encouraging  voice 
and  helping  hand,  guides  the  almost  despairing  man 
past  the  point,  beyond  which  is  the  security  and 
happiness  he  seeks. 

GENEVA. 

Geneva  has  few  objects  of  art  to  amuse  the  traveller, 
and  yet  it  wooes  many  to  a  protracted  stay  amid  such 
natural  beauty  as  appeals  eloquently  to  the  universal 
heart  and  bids  it  rejoice  in  nature's  works.  The  city 
is  associated  with  historic  events  which  linger  in  the 
memory  of  the  intelligent  mind.  It  is  dear  to  the 
Protestant,  whose  faith  was  here  cherished,  fostered, 
and  ripened  under  the  warm  sympathy  of  its  Cal- 
vinistic  friends  and  supporters.  Here  Calvin  and 
Knox  found  refuge  and  hospitable  protection  from 
enemies  and  persecutors.  Indeed,  Geneva  was  the 
Swiss  cradle  in  which  the  tumult  of  opposition  was 
soothed  and  the  Reformation  nursed  into  a  more  ro- 
bust growth.  The  pulpit  chair  which  Calvin  occupied 
still  retains  its  honored  place  in  the  Cathedral,  and  is 
reverenced  as  a  souvenir  of  a  man  who,  although  a 
harsh  controversialist,  a  bitter  opponent,  an  intolerant 
upholder  of  the  new  dogma,  yet  commands  our  respect, 
because  of  the  intense  sincerity  which  was  the  under- 


GENEVA.  139 

current  of  his  life.  Although  the  Christian  world 
cannot  endorse  certain  of  his  acts,  imputing  them  to  a 
fanatical  zeal,  yet  we  must  not  forget  that  such  men 
and  times  are  not  to  be  judged  from  the  stand-point  of 
the  present  age.  As  one  of  the  fathers  of  the  Refor- 
mation, which  was  struggling  in  the  weakness  of  its 
infancy  with  nations  and  potentates  for  its  mighty 
enemies ;  the  powers  of  hell  arrayed  against  it ;  the 
superhuman  effort  of  papal  strength  sworn  to  strangle 
its  young  life  ;  he  must  needs  exercise  a  combative 
spirit,  and  in  the  dire  emergency  of  the  case  put  forth 
all  the  resistive  power  of  his  strong  nature  and  astute 
intellect  to  succor  and  support  the  spiritual  bantling, 
as  the  disciples  of  the  Komish  creed  considered '  it. 
And  so  with  fiery  breath,  injudicious  ardor,  and,  we 
grieve  to  confess,  in  some'  instances,  relentless  cruelty, 
he  fought  with  desperate  intensity  for  the  new  faith, 
the  adopted  child  of  his  religious  nature. 

The  city  is  built  upon  the  southern  extremity  of  Lake 
Geneva,  whose  waters,  always  blue,  and  its  borders, 
which  nature  has  beautified  and  art  has  further  embel- 
lished, are  attractions  that  delight  the  traveller.  Skim- 
ming the  blue  surface  are  little  vessels,  whose  unique 
sails  form  a  striking  feature  in  the  pretty  scene.  They 
are  formed  like  the  quills  once  used  as  pens  and  crossed, 
so  that  their  appearance  at  a  short  distance  is  very 
peculiar  and  picturesque.     Many  splendid  hotels  are 


140  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

built  on  the  very  borders  of  the  lake ;  stately  palaces 
proudly  overlook  it, — one  a  magnificent  home  of  the 
Rothschilds ;  villages  cluster  under  the  shadow  of  the 
sweeping  range  of  mountains,  above  which  Mont  Blanc 
shines  pre-eminent,  "  with  its  diadem  of  snow ;"  fine 
bridges  span  the  river  at  its  confluence  with  the  lake,  a 
short  suspension  bridge  connecting  one  of  them  with 
the  little  isle,  in  whose  shady  bowers  Rousseau  is  said 
to  have  delighted  to  sit  and  ruminate. 

The  Public  Gardens  are  situated  on  the  borders  of 
the  lake,  to  whose  surface  swans  lend  a  graceful  beauty. 
Strangers  win  them  to  a  near  approach  by  feeding 
them,  and  they  are  considered  public  pets.  Music  adds 
its  animating  influence,  while  rich  verdure,  bowers  of 
green,  and  skies  of  unusual  brilliancy  and  of  blue  most 
ethereal,  make  the  scene  one  of  great  loveliness.  The 
river  Rhone,  which  flows  through  Lake  Geneva,  makes 
its  noisy  exit  not  far  below,  dashing  with  impetuous 
rapidity  from  the  waters  with  which  it  has  mingled,  as 
if  impatient  to  resume  its  original  personality.  At  a 
still  lower  point  a  most  curious  sight  is  presented  to 
the  traveller.  Standing  on  the  bridge,  one  looks  down 
upon  long  floating  sheds,  in  which  many  women  are 
assembled  washing  clothing;  inclined  planks  answer 
the  purpose  of  wash-boards,  and  the  river  is  the  uni- 
versal tub.  Energetic  action,  corresponding  with  the 
activity  of  many  tongues,  makes  the  scene  a  lively  one, 


GENEVA.  141 

and  although  a  prosaic  it  is  not  an  uninteresting  feature 
to  the  spectator. 

Lying  like  a  green  nest  upon  the  blue  waters  is 
Rousseau's  little  island.  We  look  upon  his  statue 
erected  here  many  years  since  by  his  fellow-citizens, 
and  wonder  that,  as  he  gazed  upon  the  everlasting  hills 
which  encompassed  him,  his  moral  thought  was  not 
elevated  by  their  contemplation ;  that  the  sweet  calm 
of  the  scene,  with  the  soothing  flowing  of  the  tide,  did 
not  speak  peace  to  his  perturbed  spirit ;  that  his  morbid 
misanthropy  was  not  dissipated  by  the  sunny  beauty 
that  met  his  eye ;  that  his  philosophy  did  not  become 
more  cheerful,  and  his  views  assume  a  more  rational 
character;  for  the  lesson  nature  would  teach  is  one  that 
gives  a  healthier  tone  to  the  diseased  mental  and  moral 
system ;  and  strange  it  seems  that  any  one  of  its  de- 
votees could  prove  a  dull  pupil  under  such  tuition  ! 

Geneva  was  the  adopted  home  of  many  who  were 
famed  in  the  world  of  letters,  all  its  influences  being 
favorable  to  mental  growth  and  labor.  Among  these 
were  Voltaire  and  Madame  de  Stael.  The  former  spent 
the  last  twenty-two  years  of  his  life  at  Ferney,  four 
miles  from  the  city,  and  many  now  visit  the  spot  so 
closely  associated  with  the  literary  life  of  the  remark- 
able man,  for  here  he  wrote  some  of  his  best  works. 
While  through  his  versatile  talents  literature  was  en- 
riched in  many  departments,  his  character,  vain,  cyn- 


142  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

ical,  and  impious,  failed  to  reflect  credit  upon  humanity. 
The  great  lack  in  his  intellectual  efforts,  as  in  his  life, 
was  the  grand  soul  which  is  needed  to  illuminate  both ; 
its  animated  glow  giving  living  fire  to  thought;  and 
color,  richness,  and  warmth  to  sentiment.  When  in- 
tellectual force  is  unwedded  to  soul-power,  the  grand 
source  of  inspiration,  its  results  fail  to  awaken  warm 
enthusiasm,  even  while  they  receive  the  critical  com- 
mendation of  scholarly  minds. 

We  turn  with  pleasure  to  the  great  female  celebrity, 
whose  name  belongs,  probably,  to  the  greatest  of  all 
female  writers.  We  admire  this  wonderful  woman  the 
more  as  her  intellect,  although  so  profound  as  to  en- 
trench in  its  power  upon  the  masculine,  was  united  to 
a  quickness  of  perception  and  richness  of  imagination 
purely  feminine ;  for  we  believe  this  combination  to  be 
a  rare  one.  Generally,  it  is  the  prosaic  workman  who 
lays  the  ponderous  foundations  of  a  structure,  and 
other  and  delicately-skilled  hands  that  form  the  ornate 
embellishment.  And  so  the  profound  thinker  and 
philosophical  essayist  is  seldom  one  with  the  graceful 
novelist,  whose  pretty  play  of  fancy  belongs  to  an  in- 
tellect of  lighter  calibre.  We  recognize,  too,  in  Mad- 
ame de  Stael  the  beautiful  union  of  mind  and  heart ;  the 
remarkable  power  of  the  one  not  absorbing  that  of  the 
other.  We  give  tender  pity  to  the  richly-endowed 
woman  who,  with  the  greenest  of  laurel  thick  upon  her 


GENEVA.  143 

brow ;  the  great  of  the  earth  doing  her  honor ;  her  aid 
and  friendship  solicited,  although  too  late,  by  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  of  temporary  monarchs ;  the  world  com- 
posing her  admirers ;  yet  exclaimed,  in  referring  to  one 
who  was  eminently  winning  in  person  and  manner,  "  I 
would  give  every  brilliant  thought  I  ever  conceived 
myself,  or  developed  in  another,  for  such  power  to  win 
affection."  Here  the  feminine  nature  asserted  itself, 
and,  we  think,  nobly,  for  the  thirst  for  affection  is  a 
holy  one.  Her  intellectual  appetite  was  abundantly 
appeased,  yet  her  great  womanly  heart  cried  out  with 
a  yearning  that  culture,  honor,  wealth,  or  any  other 
material  good  could  not  satisfy.  We  have  read  that 
she  was  plain  and  unattractive  in  person;  and  we  be- 
lieve that  nature,  although  we  would  speak  reverently 
and  even  lovingly  of  her,  takes  a  grim  pleasure  in  en- 
closing her  richest  gems  of  soul  and  intellect  within 
settings  singularly  incongruous.  But  wTe  also  believe 
that  a  woman  with  a  fine  soul  cannot  be  ugly;  the 
torch  of  genius  or  rich  emotion  lit  in  the  soul  must 
shed  sparkling  light  through  its  windows, — the  eyes, — 
irradiating  the  whole  face  with  glow  almost  divine. 

While  wondering  at  her  taste,  we  rejoice  to  read  of 
her  marriage  with  the  young  French  officer,  De  Rocca, 
who,  after  distinguishing  himself  by  his  bravery  in 
Spain,  enfeebled  by  his  wounds,  came  to  live  in 
Geneva.      Madame  de  StaeTs  sympathy,  happily  ex- 


144  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

pressed,  won  his  heart.  Deeply  enamored,  he  declared, 
"  I  love  her  so  passionately  that  she  will  marry  me 
at  last."  And  so  she  did ;  and,  notwithstanding  the 
disparity  in  their  ages,  they  lived  happily  together  until 
death  divorced  them,  six  years  after,  her  marriage 
being  kept  secret  until  after  her  death. 

CHILLON. 

It  is  at  the  close  of  an  afternoon  in  midsummer  that 
the  Castle  of  Chillon,  in  all  its  sombre  majesty,  greets 
our  sight.  Built  upon  a  solitary  rock,  which  projects 
twenty  yards  into  the  lake,  it  is  connected  with  the 
shore  by  a  bridge.  Very  irregular  in  its  construction, 
of  massive  walls  and  large  central  tower,  it  looms  up 
in  the  landscape  in  a  gloom,  symbolical  of  the  middle 
ages,  when  it  was  built  for  a  fortress,  serving  now  as 
an  arsenal. 

The  hour  chosen  to  visit  it  is  an  appropriate*  one ; 
the  day  has  been  brilliant,  sparkling,  and  bright  with 
joyous  sunshine.  Nature  now  has  suspended  her  ac- 
tivities ;  a  becoming  languor  has  stolen  over  her ;  the 
sun  is  descending  from  his  throne  on  high ;  shadows 
begin  to  lengthen  on  the  hill-sides ;  the  birds  have 
ceased  their  heyday  song  and  are  twittering  "good- 
night" in  leafy  bowers;  and  the  bees  are  ^satiated  with 
their  prolonged  feast  amid  the  clover-bloom.  The 
breezes,  after  gayly  frolicking  with  the  enticing  flowrers, 


CHILLON.  145 

softly  brushing  their  velvety  cheeks,  have  died  away, 
perhaps  in  "aromatic  pain,"  and  Flora,  unlike  her 
human  sisters,  betrays  weariness  in  flaunting  her  gay 
colors  in  the  summer  air. 

A  sweet  hush  has  fallen  upon  nature,  and  in  sym- 
pathy with  her  prevailing  mood  we  quietly  saunter 
along  the  pleasant  country  road  to  the  castle,  a  half- 
mile  distant  from  our  hotel.  Obtaining  entrance,  we 
first  explore  the  depths  of  the  famed  fortress.  In  a 
large  dungeon  stands  a  pillar  with  chain  affixed  to  its 
side  by  a  heavy  staple.  To  this  the  prisoner  Bonni- 
vard  had  been  attached,  and  here,  like  a  chained  beast, 
he  had  walked  around  as  far  as  his  chain  would  permit, 
until  deep  ruts  had  been  worn  into  the  hard  clay  floor. 
For  six  years  had  this  patriotic  soul  borne  this  cruel 
martyrdom.  How  must  its  fine  fibre  have  chafed 
against  its  iron  fate !  and  when  restored  to  the  city  of 
his  love,  Geneva,  for  whose  liberation  from  tyrannic 
rule  he  had  fought  before  being  conquered  and  thus 
imprisoned,  one  can  imagine  that  no  after-dream  of 
happiness  could  efface  the  memory  of  this  nightmare, 
of  a  night  extending  through  long,  weary  years.  The 
iron  ring  to  which  his  chain  was  fastened  remains  in 
its  original  position,  and  the  traces  on  the  pillar  caused 
by  the  grating  of  the  chain  are  deeply  marked.  It  is 
appalling  to  contemplate  the  goading,  wearing  friction 
on  the  heart  and  brain  of  this  refined  nature  and  noble 


146  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

spirit,  and  we  wonder  that  he  survived  his  frightful 
ordeal  thirty-five  years,  during  which  lie  was  the  object 
of  the  special  regard  of  his  grateful  and  admiring  fel- 
low-citizens. Other  dungeons,  deeper,  smaller,  and 
darker  still,  are  shown  us,  where  criminals  were  con- 
signed to  a  living  death.  An  aperture  is  pointed  out 
lined  with  sharp  knives,  down  which  a  victim  would 
be  thrust,  his  mutilated  body  finding  its  final  rest  in 
the  waters  of  the  lake  at  its  base.  Their  beautiful 
blue  has  often  been  reddened  thus  with  human  blood, 
mhumanly  sacrificed ;  and  although  all  earthly  traces 
of  such  crime  have  long  been  washed  away,  yet  not 
even  its  broad,  deep  currents  can  erase  their  eternal 
record. 

We  see  many  apartments  in  the  upper  portion  of  the 
castle  curious  in  their  antiquity.  The  wooden  ceilings, 
and  the  walls  of  the  banqueting-room,  covered  with 
the  painted  emblems  of  the  different  Swiss  Cantons. 
Here  feasted  and  lived  at  times  the  dukes  of  Savoy,  all 
unmindful  of  the  groans  of  their  wretched  victims, 
which  mingled  with  the  sighing  of  the  wind  and  the 
plashing  of  the  waves  around  the  castled  rock. 

On  leaving  the  grand  old  castle,  which  gives  char- 
acter to  all  the  landscape,  we  meet  the  peasantry  re- 
turning to  their  homes  after  the  day's  toil  in  the 
hay-fields.  They  add  much,  as  they  ever  do,  to  the 
view ;  their  homely  attire,  always  brightened  by  a  dash 


CHILLON.  147 

of  color,  is  so  piquant  and  quaint  that  we  have  learned 
to  believe  no  picture  of  a  country  scene  complete  with- 
out its  introduction. 

As  we  look  toward  the  sky  we  see  that  the  sweetness 
of  the  hour  is  there  culminating.  The  sun  is  nearing 
the  western  horizon;  its  effulgence  spreading  over  the 
heavens  as  we  stand  spell-bound  before  charms  which 
light  up  our  vision  with  dazzling  splendor.  The  orb 
of  day  is  like  a  great  ball  of  fire,  whose  flames,  catch- 
ing the  clouds,  spread  the  conflagration,  until  the  sky 
is  like  a  vast  molten  sea  of  glory.  Flashes  of  radiant 
light  spring  from  the  grand  centre,  piercing  with  their 
golden  shafts  the  billowy  blue,  darting  through  banks 
of  roseate  clouds,  dissolving  them  into  masses  of  shim- 
mering light  and  color.  As  we  gaze,  our  souls  filled 
with  joy  by  the  celestial  beauty,  clouds  of  pale  azure, 
lined  and  fringed  with  burnished  silver,  melt  little  by 
little  into  the  great  canopy  of  gold  and  crimson,  which 
fill  the  whole  firmament  with  splendor  incomparable. 
From  a  distance  come  sailing  on  quiet,  gray  clouds, 
beautiful,  because  soft  and  fleecy,  but  as  they  glide 
into  the  gorgeous  arena  they  are  glorified  by  color, 
quickly  girdled  with  silver,  crowned  with  gold,  and 
tinted  with  crimson. 

Upon  a  cerulean  background  suddenly  there  blos- 
soms a  silvery  star,  or  is  it  a  jewel  fallen  from  the  dia- 
dem of  the  Invisible  King?     Its  tiny  rays  shine  from 


148  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

afar,  as  it  modestly  beams  in  the  wake  of  the  departed 
sun. 

Ah,  if  the  outer  walls  of  the  Celestial  City  be  so 
brilliant  and  radiant,  so  glowing  with  beauty,  what 
must  be  the  Heavenly  Jerusalem  itself?  As  we  gaze 
we  recall  the  words  of  the  Great  King :  "  Eye  hath 
not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither  have  entered  into  the 
heart  of  man,  the  things  which  God  hath  prepared  for 
them  that  love  him." 

We  recognize  the  exquisite  sentiment  of  the  Persian 
instinct  which,  in  ignorance  of  "  The  True  God,"  leads 
to  the  worship  of  so  divine  a  symbol  as  the  sun,  typical 
in  its  power,  in  its  marvellous  light,  and  in  its  inde- 
scribable glory,  of  the  Supreme  Power,  the  Divine 
Illuminator,  and  the  omnipotence  of  the  Creator  of 
the  World. 


CHAPTER  X. 

LAUSANNE— FREYBURG— LUCERNE— LAKE    THUN— 
INTERLACHEN. 

LAUSANNE. 

Lajjsanne,  on  the  north  side  of  Lake  Geneva,  occu- 
pying a  very  elevated  position,  enjoys  views  remark- 
able for  their  extent  and  beauty.  Ouchy,  whose  grand 
hotel  attracts  many  visitors,  lies  below  it  on  the  very 
borders  of  the  lake,  and  affords,  in  its  nestling  security, 
a  pretty  view  to  the  town  above.  "  Montbenon,"  the 
public  promenade  of  Lausanne,  is  bordered  with  many 
trees  of  an  age  that  the  oldest  inhabitant  fails  to  com- 
pute, and  of  a  size  really  prodigious.  So  carefully  are 
they  preserved  by  the  town  authorities  that  wide  iron 
bands  are  made  to  encircle  their  gnarled  trunks;  the 
decay  producing  large  fissures,  arrested  by  a  filling  of 
plaster,  which,  as  it  becomes  hard  and  smooth,  resem- 
bles a  tablet  inserted  in  a  wall,  awaiting  its  inscription. 

From  the  terrace  of  Montbenon  one  enjoys  a  fine 
view  of  the  lake  sluggishly  basking  in  the  bright  sun- 
light ;  the  slopes  on  the  opposite  shores  beautiful  with 

149 


150  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

spired  villages,  antique  towers,  spreading  vineyards, 
and  turreted  villas.  Sweeping  along  the  horizon  are 
the  Piedmontese  Alps,  greeting  their  opposite  neigh- 
bor, the  Jura  range,  their  lofty  heights  rising  above  the 
clouds,  which  often  in  foamy  masses  repose  below 
them ;  sometimes  enveloping  themselves  in  a  fleecy 
robe  of  blue  mist,  which,  like  the  delicate  drapery 
over  a  beautiful  bust,  only  enhances  the  charms  it 
affects  to  conceal.  Many  of  the  snowy  peaks  turn  at 
night  their  whitened  faces  toward  the  moon,  blushing 
red  under  the  morning  smiles  of  the  rising  sun  as  he 
goes  forth  to  run  his  race.  And  when  the  sunlight 
crowns  the  mountain-tops  and  lights  up  the  hill-sides, 
who  can  stand  unmoved  by  the  effects  of  its  illumin- 
ating splendor ! 

In  the  heart  of  the  town  stands  the  H6tel  Gibbon, 
formerly  the  residence  of  the  famous  historian  of  that 
name.  Attached  to  it  is  the  garden  where  he  sat  on  a 
moonlight  night  in  June,  1787,  writing  the  final  words 
of  his  history;  and  he  describes  in  his  memoirs  the 
thrilling  emotions  with  which  he  contemplated  the 
completed  work  which  was  to  immortalize  his  name. 

Our  hotel  is  situated  in  the  midst  of  a  garden  filled 
with  fragrance  and  beauty.  Within  its  enclosure  is  a 
cottage,  occupied  by  the  owner  of  the  hotel  and  his 
aged  wife.  One  evening  she  sat  upon  one  of  the  rustic 
seats,  amid  the  flowers  she  loved  to  cultivate,  in  pleasant 


FREYBURG.  151 

converse  with  some  of  the  hotel  guests.  As  the  nine 
o'clock  bell  struck  upon  the  evening  air  with  its  mel- 
low sound,  she  arose,  and,  bidding  her  companions  ubon 
soir"  entered  her  little  chalet. 

What  consternation  fell  upon  the  household  the  next 
morning  when  the  death  of  the  dear  old  lady  was 
announced  !  She  had  just  been  found  lying  peacefully 
in  the  arms  of  death;  having  passed  away  without  the 
knowledge  of  her  husband,  who  lay  beside  her.  Her 
"  good-night"  had  been  uttered  amid  the  flowers  of 
earthly  growth,  while  the  shadows  of  evening  were 
deepening  about  her,  but  angels  had  whispered  their 
"  good-morning"  in  a  brighter  clime,  amid  perpetual 
bloom,  where  her  feeble  age  was  already  transformed 
into  immortal  youth. 

Judge  of  the  astonishment  created  by  seeing  through 
the  open  windows,  two  hours  later,  the  freshly-made, 
widower  pruning  the  plants !  The  ladies  very  natu- 
rally resented  the  cruel  indignity  laid  upon  one  of  their 
sex,  until  some  kindly  disposed  person  suggested  that 
he  was  probably  paying  respect  to  his  late  wife's  mem- 
ory by  bestowing  upon  the  flowers  she  loved  the  tender 
care  which  had  been  her  daily  pleasure. 

FREYBURG. 

Freyburg  occupies  an  elevated  and  very  picturesque 
situation,  containing  besides  its  organ   several   other 


J 52  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

attractions.  From  a  balcony  in  the  rear  of  our  hotel 
we  look  upon  a  deep  ravine  spanned  by  a  suspension 
bridge  which  is  considered  a  triumph  of  mechanical 
skill ;  the  wire  chains  which  support  it  are  fastened  to 
rocks  on  each  side  instead  of  pillars.  Another  very 
fine  suspension  bridge  crosses  the  river  Saarine ;  it  is 
supported  by  four  chains,  which  form  a  single  arch.  A 
drive  over  the  two  bridges  to  the  suburbs  of  the  town 
richly  rewards  us,  by  pretty  views  obtained  of  the 
winding  river  and  of  the  town  from  higher  points. 

The  tourist  is  always  expected  to  visit  the  famous 
lime-tree  in  front  of  Council  Hall.  Tradition  tells  us 
that  after  the  battle  at  Morat  in  1476,  a  young  man, 
native  of  Freyburg,  rushed  breathless  and  exhausted 
into  the  town  announcing  the  victory.  The  word 
"  victory"  was  all  he  could  command  strength  to  utter, 
expiring  soon  after.  In  his  hand  he  had  borne  a  twig, 
which  was  planted,  and  having  grown  into  a  tree  of 
mammoth  size,  fourteen  feet  in  circumference,  is  an 
object  of  the  special  regard  and  watchful  care  of  the 
citizens  and  of  curiosity  to  strangers.  Its  branches  are 
supported  by  pillars,  a  wooden  fence  being  built  around 
it,  with  seats  for  garrulous  old  age,  and  as  a  trysting- 
place  for  village  lovers. 

In  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Nicholas  is  the  organ  to 
which  the  town  is  indebted  for  its  influx  of  visitors. 
It  is  considered  one  of  the  finest  in  Europe,  and  with 


FREYBURG.  153 

its  sixty-seven  stops  and  seven  thousand  eight  hundred 
pipes,  some  of  them  thirty-three  feet  long,  requires  a 
masterly  hand  to  perform  upon  it. 

Wending  our  way  to  the  Cathedral  at  eight  o'clock, 
we  find  it  enshrouded  in  partial  darkness,  being  but 
feebly  illuminated  by  one  light  "dimly  burning." 
This  is  most  agreeable,  the  effect  of  the  music  being 
much  more  impressive  than  if  the  glare  of  daylight 
shone  about  us.  It  is  a  weird  scene.  By  the  obscure 
light  we  can  faintly  discern  a  few  human  figures  scat- 
tered through  the  pews ;  occasionally  a  solitary  person 
will  steal  noiselessly  in,  and,  gliding  through  the  shad- 
ows, drop  into  a  distant  seat.  Gloom  lurks  in  all  the 
corners  of  the  great  church,  the  pictures  and  altar 
decorations  looking  ghastly  in  the  feeble  glimmer; 
while  we  sit  as  if  in  preparation  for  some  inquisitorial 
business,  a  funereal  silence  settling  upon  the  meagre 
assembly  composed  of  about  fifteen  persons.  We  begin 
to  be  "  scared  with  visions,"  and  instinctively  nestle  a 
little  nearer  our  companions,  when  suddenly  the  air, 
it  seems  the  universe,  is  filled  with  sound,  overwhelm- 
ing, grand,  magnificent !  We  are  borne  along  on  its 
deep,  rapid  current,  breathless  with  a  delight  mingled 
with  awe,  when  gradually,  almost  insensibly,  we  are 
guided  into  gentler  ways,  on  the  bosom  of  calmer  seas, 
the  lulling  sound  of  the  rippling  waters  exquisitely  at- 
tuned to  the  tenderest  feeling. 


154  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

Now  comes  the  imitation  of  storm,  chaos, — perhaps 
an  intimation  of  the  final  destruction.  The  muttering 
of  distant  thunder  swells  into  a  great  clamor,  rush- 
ing nearer,  with  the  rattling  of  heaven's  artillery, 
the  crashing  of  the  elements,  until  we  almost  cower 
under  the  power  of  sound.  And  yet  this  same  instru- 
ment, obedient  to  the  conquering  hand  of  the  gifted 
performer,  can  breathe  in  tones  so  mild  as  would  not 
disturb  an  infant's  sleep,  and  so  sweet  as  would  lap 
it  into  deeper  slumber  by  the  most  ethereal  notes. 
The  vast  organ  which  belches  torrents  of  wrath  and 
power,  and  breathes  gentlest  whisperings  of  joy  and 
love  with  equal  ease,  seems  possessed  with  a  grand 
soul ;  at  times  torn  with  the  force  of  its  human  pas- 
sions, and  again  imbued  with  a  divine  tenderness  and 
peace.  The  most  wonderful  of  its  achievements  is  its 
imitation  of  the  human  voice.  With  one  hand  the 
accompaniment  is  played,  while  the  simulation  of 
vocal  strains  is  produced  with  the  other.  The  effect 
is  most  remarkable.  The  magic  voice  seems  to  be 
wafted  to  our  entranced  ears  through  misty  space, 
ascending  the  scale  to  highest  notes,  filling  the  air  and 
soul  with  delicious  melody,  as  descending  it  melts  into 
the  sweetest  whisper. 


LUCERNE.  155 


LUCERNE. 


The  ride  by  rail  from  Freyburg  to  Lucerne  is  made 
enjoyable  by  the  beauty  of  -the  panoramic  views  of 
the  landscapes,  which,  shifting  rapidly,  seem  as  fleeting 
as  pleasing  dreams.  The  day  is  in  the  dew  of  its 
youth.  We  delight  in  the  hour, — 'tis  early  morn, — for 
Dame  Nature  as  seen  in  her  maturity  at  mid-day  is 
less  charming  than  in  the  freshness  of  her  youth  in 
the  morning.  The  birds  in  their  elevated  choirs  are 
holding  their  morning  service  of  song ;  it  seems  to  be 
nature's  bridal  hour,  for  she  is  timidly  waiting  in  fresh 
and  sweet  array  to  receive  the  kiss  of  the  bridegroom  as 
he  comes  forth  like  a  strong  man  from  his  chamber  of 
the  clouds.  On  her  face  are  the  beautiful  dew-drops, 
which  glitter  as  his  radiant  glances  beam  upon  her. 
Sweet  shadows,  at  first,  hang  about  her,  but  are  dispelled 
by  the  nearer  approach  of  his  warm,  bright  presence. 
Now,  indeed,  all  is  sunlight  and  joy,  and  we  who  wit- 
ness this  tender  meeting  think  that  men  might  well 
imitate  the  wooing  of  this  stately  sun  of  the  morning ! 

The  sweet  burden  of  new-mown  meadows  exhales 
its  perfume,  rising  like  incense  to  the  sun ;  fields  of 
ripening  corn  give  pleasing  signs  of  plenty ;  in  pretty 
pastures  of  rich  green  the  clumsy  kine  feed  lazily. 
Brightening  the  view  are  acres  of  wheat,  whose  golden 
surface  is  exquisitely  relieved  by  the  scarlet  poppy, 


156  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

which  is  here  so  abundantly  scattered  through  it.  The 
faint  breeze  of  a  summer's  day  gently  breathes  upon 
the  rippling  treasure,  blending  the  colors  into  one. 
The  hum  of  many  insects  gives  a  soporific  influence 
to  the  air.  The  sunlight  is  now  spread  broadcast  over 
the  landscape,  sparkling  streams  saucily  flashing  back 
its  glances.  Women  in  their  quaint  costume,  as  seen 
in  the  distance,  deftly  wielding  the  hoe  or  turning  the 
odorous  hay  to  the  warm  rays  of  the  sun,  add  to  the 
picturesqueness  of  the  view.  Many  of  the  billowy 
mountains  along  the  horizon  are  robed  in  snowy  white, 
emblematic  of  the  purity  above  them ;  modest  valleys, 
where  nestle  many  vine-clad  cottages,  their  attractive 
loveliness  resurrecting  memories  of  the  girlish  dreams 
of  long  ago,  when  the  sentiment, 

"  Give  me  a  cot 
In  the  valley  I  love," 

filled  the  imagination. 

Ah,  that  charm  which  brings  tears  to  the  eyes  must 
be  of  sacred  beauty ;  and  we  feel  that  the  influences 
of  such  revelations  as  nature  has  made  to  us  this  day 
must  stimulate,  even  develop,  the  finest  emotions  of  our 
natures. 

The  great  attraction  of  Lucerne  consists  in  the  pe- 
culiar advantages  of  its  position.  It  is  situated. on  the 
river  Reuss,  as  it  emerges  from  Lake  Lucerne,  which  is 


LUCERNE.  157 

spread  out  before  it,  with  Mont  Pilatus  on  the  right 
and  the  Rigi  in  front.  Lake  Lucerne  is  considered  the 
most  beautiful  of  all  the  Swiss  lakes,  and  is  the  more 
attractive  from  its  irregularity.  Taking  the  steamer, 
we  traverse  the  entire  length  of  the  lake,  finding  great 
enjoyment  in  its  diversity  of  scenery.  Clustering 
around  the  base  of  the  Rigi  are  sunny  gardens  abound- 
ing in  fruit-trees,  pretty  cottages  interspersed  among 
them,  with  shady  woods  and  green  pastures  on  the 
higher  slopes.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake  is 
Mont  Pilatus,  which  forms  in  its  dark,  frowning  pres- 
ence a  strong  contrast  to  the  brighter  aspects  of  the 
Rigi ;  but  to  these  antipodal  effects  much  grandeur  and 
beauty  are  attributable.  Indeed,  the  mind  of  man  de- 
mands variety  of  objects  and  character  to  gratify  its 
every  phase  of  taste  and  feeling;  and  to  antagonistic 
influences,  and  to  the  varied  forms  of  scenery,  do  we 
owe  that  pleasure  which  arises  from  the  exercise  of  our 
reasoning  faculties,  and  from  the  contrast  of  the  simple 
with  the  grand ;  the  pretty,  bright,  and  picturesque 
with  the  magnificent,  the  imposing,  and  the  sublime. 

Our  patriotism  having  taken  on  new  fervor  during 
absence  from  our  native  land,  we  feel,  as  we  near  TelFs- 
platte,  a  sympathetic  interest  in  the  associations  of  the 
spot  which  the  Swiss  people  hold  sacred,  as  connected 
with  memories  of  their  ancient  hero  and  liberator. 
Whether  mythical  or  not,  the  reminiscences  are  a  nucleus 


158  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

for  the  patriotic  thought  and  feeling,  which  burn  with 
such  vivid  flame  in  the  public  heart  of  the  staunch  little 
Republic ;  and  his  name  is  a  talisman  against  any 
treasonable  sentiment  or  act.  The  spot  upon  which 
we  gaze  with  such  lively  attention  is  one  where  the 
Chapel  of  Tell  stands.  This  was  erected  by  the  Can- 
ton of  Uri,  it  is  said,  in  1388  to  commemorate  the 
escape  of  the  patriot  from  Gesler's  boat,  but  it  is  evi- 
dently of  more  modern  date.  On  the  Sabbath  following 
Ascension-day,  mass  is  performed  here,  great  numbers 
attending  in  boats,  gayly  decorated,  to  hear  the  patriotic 
sermon  which  is  always  preached  on  that  occasion. 
The  sentiment  inculcated  is  so  noble  a  one,  that  we 
would  have  it  fostered  by  these  yearly  ceremonies,  be- 
lieving this  man,  whose  patriotic  memory  they  half 
"ignorantly  worship,"  to  be  the  embodiment  of  one  of 
the  grandest  passions  of  the  soul,  and  so,  worthy  of  their 
enthusiastic  devotion. 

As  we  approach  the  terminus  of  the  lake  the  moun- 
tains assume  most  imposing  grandeur,  as  if  to  leave 
upon  all  minds  an  impression  of  august  dignity.  On 
returning  to  our  hotel  at  Lucerne,  we  renew  our  former 
pleasures  amid  scenes  less  impressive,  but  sunnier. 
Perhaps  with  the  thought  of  nearing  the  skies,  the 
better  to  enjoy  the  Sabbath  observances,  we  cross  the 
lake  and,  taking  a  carriage,  reach  by  a  good  road  the 
large  hotel  built  on  the  Burgenstock,  some  two  thousand 


LUCERNE.  159 

six  hundred  feet  above  the  sea-level.  The  view  of  the 
lake,  and  of  the  mountain  kings  enthroned  above  it,  is 
superb.  In  very  pretty  woods  adjoining  the  hotel,  by 
paths  easily  climbed,  we  attain  to  greater  heights,  and, 
through  vistas  skilfully  arranged,  obtain  glimpses  of 
several  lakes,  vast  mountain  peaks  and  distant  ranges, 
with  the  gem  of  all  the  adjacent  waters,  Lake  Lucerne, 
gracefully  curling  in  and  out  below  and  beyond  us. 

The  air  is  deliciously  fresh,  suggestive  of  health, 
strength,  and  buoyant  life.  The  views  are  something 
ever  to  remember,  for  it  is  our  faith  that  impressions 
of  beauty  and  grandeur  imprinted  upon  the  eye  are 
caught  by  the  spirit,  and  ere  lost  or  faded  are  engraved 
upon  the  tablets  of  memory,  and  often  incorporated 
into  the  moral  character,  elevating  it  above  the  paltry 
objects  of  the  lower  world  by  introducing  it  to  the 
higher  influences  of  nature  in  her  exalted  phases. 

Seated  on  a  balcony  overhanging  the  lake,  we  can 
look  upon  the  waters  of  Lakes  Zug  and  Sempach. 
Mont  Pilatus,  its  face  generally  clouded,  scowls  down 
upon  the  sweet  landscape,  unmindful  that  the  lake  be- 
low reflects  its  frown ;  while  the  Rigi,  with  more  femi- 
nine proportions, — and  disposition  too,  shall  we  say  ? — 
casts  brighter  glances  around,  and  lit  up  with  smiles, 
reflected  from  peak  to  peak,  vainly  strives  to  propitiate 
its  neighbor,  who  is  enshrouded  in  almost  perpetual 
gloom.     The  lights  of  the  distant  town  throw  their 


160  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

quivering  rays  athwart  the  waters,  the  moon  vying 
with  them  in  illuminating  the  scene ;  lighting  up 
rugged  mountain  crags;  throwing  a  veil  of  silvery 
sheen  over  the  broad  face  of  the  lake ;  bringing  out  in 
bold  relief  the  little  boats  idly  floating  on  its  surface; 
and  concealing  by  its  modest  light  defects  which  the 
sun  Avantonly  reveals.  By  its  hallowed  beams  it  clothes 
all  visible  objects  with  sacred  beauty,  investing  even 
the  most  prosaic  with  a  spiritual  or  poetic  beauty. 

What  wonder,  amid  such  enchantment,  if  a  gossiping 
breeze  bears  to  our  ears  the  tones  of  love  ?  Glancing 
at  the  foreign  faces  on  every  side,  we  bethink  us  what 
an  accomplished  little  urchin  is  Cupid,  who  whispers 
in  every  known  and  unknown  tongue !  And  how  won- 
derfully preserved  is  his  youth,  remembering  that  he 
was  a  contemporary  even  of  Adam  and  Eve !  playing 
as  mischievous  a  role  in  the  lives  of  the  antediluvians 
as  now,  when  in  wanton  glee  he  toys  with  his  pretty 
weapon,  piercing  with  magic  arrow  maidens'  hearts; 
sharpening  it  anew  to  penetrate  the  more  obdurate 
organ  of  the  sterner  sex  ! 

The  following  morning,  summoning  the  courage  upon 
which  heavy  drafts  have  already  been  made,  we  enter 
the  car  to  ascend  the  Rigi.  As  the  passengers  sit  with 
their  backs  toward  the  front  of  the  car,  the  sensation 
might  be  unpleasant  to  some,  but  we  think  the  op- 
portunity for  enjoying  the  view  better  in  that  position 


LUCERNE.  161 

than  in  the  ordinary  one.  As  usual,  our  ambition  soars 
to  the  highest  point.  We  are  ticketed  for  the  Rigi- 
Kulm,  the  highest  peak,  five  thousand  nine  hundred 
feet  above  the  sea-level.  Losing  all  sense  of  fear,  we 
surrender  ourselves  to  enjoyment,  each  moment  unfold- 
ing to  our  view  some  new  feature  of  delight  and  won- 
der. Arrived  at  the  hotel,  we  lose  no  time  in  exploring 
the  locality.  It  is  remarkable  for  its  breadth  of  vision, 
and  for  the  confusing  number  and  variety  of  objects 
comprehended  in  the  view.  The  sunset  is  a  disappoint- 
ment, foreboding  a  foggy  morrow,  and  so,  although 
scarcely  daring  to  pray  for  a  clear  sunrise,  we  wish  for 
it,  as  to  see  the  great  king  of  day  as  he  emerges  from 
his  couch  of  clouds  and  enters  the  sky — the  vast 
audience-chamber  of  the  world — is  the  prime  object  of 
the  trip. 

We  retire  early,  doubtful  of  the  morrow's  prospects. 
Humming  the  familiar  lines, 

"  Watchman,  tell  us  of  the  night, 
What  its  signs  of  promise  are," 

the  thought  and  wish  blend  with  our  dreams,  and  we 
sleep  until  the  Alpine  horn  sounds  the  noisy  reveille 
at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

Dressed  as  we  are,  for  we  had  not  ventured  to  go 
literally  "to  bed,"  we  throw  shawls  and  cloaks  about 
us  and  join  the  sleepy,  murmuring  crowd  which,  issuing 

8* 


162  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

from  every  corridor,  is  flocking  to  the  grand  rendez- 
vous, a  hill  in  rear  of  the  hotel.  Alas !  alas  !  we  are 
quickly  enveloped  in  fog  and  cloud,  typical  of  the  con- 
dition of  the  sun,  who,  although  so  many  are  awaiting 
his  coming,  fails  to  indicate  even  his  whereabouts. 

Disconsolate,  tired,  sleepy,  and  bedraggled  with  dew, 
we  return  to  the  hotel,  and  a  few  hours  later,  amid  a 
violent  rain-storm,  descend  the  mount. 

The  grand  artistic  treasure  of  Lucerne  is  "The  Lion," 
executed  in  1821,  in  memory  of  the  massacred  Swiss 
Guard  of  twenty-six  officers  and  seven  hundred  and 
sixty  soldiers  who  fell  in  defence  of  the  Tuileries,  August 
10,  1792.  A  vociferous  mob  surrounded  the  palace, 
and,  refusing  to  disperse,  was  fired  upon  by  the  Guard. 
The  people,  believing  that  the  firing  had  been  ordered 
by  the  king,  maddened  by  fury,  forced  an  entrance  into 
the  palace  and  murdered  all  found  within  it. 

The  dying  lion  is  represented  as  endeavoring  still  to 
protect  the  shield  of  France,  one  huge  paw  covering  it. 
The  figure  is  colossal, — twenty-eight  feet  by  eighteen. 
Transfixed  by  a  broken  spear,  it  half  reclines  in  the 
agonies  of  death,  reminding  us  of  its  representative 
human  counterpart, — the  dying  gladiator  at  Rome. 
The  Lion,  modelled  by  the  Danish  sculptor,  Thorwald- 
sen,  is  grand  in  conception  and  masterly  in  execution. 
It  is  hewn  out  of  the  face  of  an  immense  sandstone 
rock ;  at  the  base  of  which  are  the  dark  waters  of  a 


LAKE   THUN.  163 

small  pond  fed  from  a  spring  which  flows  down  by  the 
side  of  the  rock.  Dense  shrubbery  adds  to  the  gloom 
of  the  death-scene.  It  is  a  striking  spectacle,  and  in 
every  particular  testifies  to  the  rare  cunning  of  the 
artistic  brain  and  hand.  The  face  expresses,  with 
almost  human  fidelity,  physical  anguish  and  piteous 
distress.  Looking  upon  the  monster  in  his  quiet  agony, 
one  is  deeply  impressed  by  its  representation  of  what  is 
rarely  seen, — the  sublimity  of  suffering. 

LAKE   THUN. 

Lake  Thun,  while  it  boasts  of  no  remarkable  feature, 
is  certainly  a  little  gem  among  the  more  stately  waters 
of  a  country  that  abounds  in  natural  attractions  of 
lakes,  mountains,  and  glaciers. 

We  wonder  not  that  the  Swiss  are  possessed,  as  a 
people,  of  those  virtues  which  distinguish  the  highest 
moral  character.  Universally  industrious  and  honest, 
proverbially  patriotic,  domestic,  simple,  and  chaste  in 
their  lives,  we  discover  the  origin  of  this  innate  excel- 
lence in  their  peculiar  surroundings.  Surely  the  cli- 
mate and  the  formation  of  a  country,  particularly  if 
its  landscapes  abound  in  striking  features,  must  exert 
a  marked  influence  upon  the  tastes,  the  nature,  and  the 
character  of  its  people.  Could  a  man  environed  by 
lofty  mountains,  dazzling  heights,  and  glittering  glaciers 
be  the  same  as  one  living  upon  unbroken  plains,  feed- 


164  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

ing  his  breath  from  the  still,  sluggish  air  that  steals 
over  them  ?  Must  not  his  whole  organism  differ  from 
one  whose  first  breath,  even,  is  drawn  from  the  clear, 
bracing  winds  that  come  sweeping  down  from  the 
lofty  peaks;  whose  eyes  ever  rest  upon  the  sublime 
in  nature?  Nor  would  it  be  strange  if  his  soul 
should  assume  the  purity  of  which  the  perpetual 
snow  and  ice  are  symbolical :  "  Chaste  as  ice  and 
pure  as  snow." 

The  banks  of  Lake  Thun  are  for  some  distance 
thickly  studded  with  ornamental  villas,  many  of  them 
very  elegant,  surrounded  by  dense  and  very  beautiful 
growths  of  shrubs  and  flowers ;  their  gardens  sloping 
down  to  the  water's  edge,  add  beauty  to  a  view  to 
which  the  surrounding  mountains  impart  the  elements 
of  grandeur.  Many  pretty  villages  dot  the  banks, 
their  vineyards  covering  the  hill-sides;  and  occasionally 
an  ancient  and  picturesque  chateau  and  little  churches, 
whose  modest  spires  point  the  thought  to  heaven.  In- 
deed, this  lake  with  its  pretty  bordering  banks  seems  to 
us  like  a  little  poem  set  to  music,  so  smooth  and  rhyth- 
mical in  its  flow ;  so  harmonious  in  its  parts ;  so  sug- 
gestive of  beautiful  thought;  so  full  of  delicate  pic- 
tures of  life  in  its  sweetest  form,  without  its  rude, 
rough  prose.  Lambs  gambolling  in  green  pastures; 
little  churches  where  the  manly  youth  and  gentle 
maiden  plight  their  troth ;  and  beautiful  hills  whose 


INTERLA  CHEN.  165 

tops  are  Pisgahs  where  they  may  read  their  happy 
future,  as  typified  in  the  graceful,  sunny  landscape  that 
lies  before  them. 

A  slight  shower  compels  a  temporary  withdrawing 
to  the  salon  below,  but  on  emerging  again,  the  atten- 
tion of  all  is  attracted  toward  a  rainbow  which  half 
spans  the  lake.  It  is  unusually  defined  in  form  and 
vivid  in  color.  At  this  moment  we  are  nearing  the 
narrow  portion  of  the  lake,  and  are  apparently  about 
to  pass  under  the  bow  of  promise  in  the  clouds. 
"Oh,"  we  exclaim,  "if  it  would  only  extend  and 
completely  span  the  lake,  it  would  be  like  a  triumphal 
arch  to  pass  under  I"  The  words  are  scarcely  uttered 
ere  the  heavenly  artist  has  traced  with  divine  touch 
the  other  half,  so  that  the  bow  literally  stretches  from 
one  side  of  the  lake  to  the  other,  the  extreme  points 
seeming  to  touch  the  earth  on  either  side.  A  universal 
exclamation  of  rapturous  delight  bursts  from  the  lips 
of  all  the  passengers,  who  have  flocked  to  the  bow  of 
the  boat  to  witness  the  renewal  of  the  covenant  made 
with  Noah :  "  I  do  set  my  bow  in  the  cloud,  and  it 
shall  be  for  a  token  of  a  covenant  between  me  and  the 
earth." 

INTEKLACHEN. 

Arrived  at  Interlachen,  we  find  our  "lines  have 
been  cast"  in  «one  of  the  most  delightful  spots  in 
Switzerland.    The  village  is  situated  in  a  valley  formed 


166  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

between  the  two  lakes  of  Thun  and  Brienz,  which  are 
on  the  east  and  west  of  it,  the  valley  of  the  Lauter- 
brunnen  lying  toward  the  south.  The  principal  street, 
or  avenue,  is  the  Hoheweg,  bordered  on  both  sides  by 
large  walnut-trees.  The  many  hotels  which  line  one 
side  of  this  fine  avenue  vie  with  each  other  in  floral 
display.  One  walks  through  a  miniature  Eden  before 
entering  their  doors,  and  all  within  is  made  very  in- 
viting. The  windows  of  our  rooms  look  upon  the 
"Jungfrau,"  which  in  dazzling  robe  of  snow  is  a 
fascinating  object  for  all  eyes.  As  its  name  signifies 
"  virgin,"  we  must  try  to  realize  its  femininity.  Al- 
though arrayed  in  trailing  robe  of  white,  spangled  by 
the  sun's  rays,  and  often  wearing  a  bridal-like  veil  of 
fleecy  clouds,  yet  despite  this  glamour  and  the  silence 
she  maintains  as  to  her  age, — like  many  human  spinsters, 
— we  recognize  her  to  be  a  very  ancient  maiden.  She  is 
of  Amazonian  proportions,  the  fourth  among  the  Swiss 
and  the  eighth  among  European  mountains,  thirteen 
thousand  seven  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 

A  drive  to  Grindelwald  is  full  of  delight;  here, 
after  dining,  we  mount  mules  and  proceed  to  the  gla- 
ciers. In  one  a  grotto  has  been  hewn.  We  enter  it 
to  enjoy  the  better  its  exquisite  transparency  and  color 
of  emerald,  but  meet  with  such  a  cold  reception  as 
compels  us  to  retire  hastily.  , 

Another  interesting  excursion  is  by  carriage  through 


INTERLACHEN.  167 

the  Lauterbrunnen  Valley,  or  it  might  properly  be 
styled  a  ravine,  bordered  on  both  sides  by  immense 
precipitous  rocks  from  one  thousand  to  fifteen  hundred 
feet  high.  Numerous  springs  suggest  its  name.  The  fer- 
tile valley  is  sheltered  by  the  gigantic  rocks,  shaded  by 
many  trees,  and  made  fresh  and  sparkling  by  its  many 
cascades  falling  from  the  heights  above.  The  principal 
one  is  called  the  Staubbach, — dust-brook.  Its  source  is 
comparatively  insignificant,  being  simply  a  brook ;  but 
its  fall  of  nine  hundred  and  eighty  feet  gives  it  an  ex- 
aggerated appearance  of  volume,  gaining  dignity  from 
height  and  distance.  It  descends  at  first  impetuously, 
but  when  the  wind  catches  the  water,  scatters,  spreads, 
divides,  and  subdivides  it,  carrying  it  whither  it  will, 
flinging  it  into  fantastic  shapes,  weaving  it  into  a  wav- 
ing, transparent,  silvery  veil,  we  look  upon  it  with  in- 
tense pleasure.  It  is  a  pretty  plaything  for  the  breezes, 
and  through  their  wand  is  tossed  into  its  many  forms 
of  beauty.  Often  when  the  sunshine  sports  with  it 
and  glimmers  through  its  radiant  drops  it  is  further 
beautified  by  rainbows. 


CHAPTER    XL 

MUNICH— CARLSBAD. 

MUNICH. 

Munich,  the  capital  of  Bavaria,  lies  in  a  plain,  and 
is  built  upon  both  sides  of  the  Iser.  It  is  considered 
one  of  the  handsomest  cities  in  Germany,  ranking  as 
the  fourth  in  population.  We  are  delighted  with  not 
only  its  fine,  broad,  open  streets;  its  squares,  monu- 
ments, and  its  bright,  inviting  appearance ;  but  with 
the  galleries  abounding  in  artistic  wealth ;  its  Palace, 
which,  although  of  unpretending  exterior,  is  truly 
magnificent  within  ;  and  in  the  numberless  facilities 
offered  for  pleasure,  to  secure  which,  is  the  tourist's 
avowed  purpose.  Indeed,  it  is  difficult  to  find  a  "  con- 
venient season"  to  leave  it ;  and  beginning  after  a  few 
days  to  suspect  that  it  is  the  country  of  the  Lotus-plant, 
which  is  said  to  have  the  effect  of  obliterating  from  the 
mind  all  longings  for  native  land,  and  of  rendering 
departure  very  difficult,  we  follow  the  example  of 
Ulysses  in  a  similar  emergency,  and   drag   ourselves 

168 


MUNICH.  169 

away  to  other  cities,  who,  siren-like,  are  wooing  us  on 
to  an  enjoyment  of  their  pleasures.  Meanwhile,  what 
throngs  of  migrating  travellers  arrive !  Excitement 
and  bustle  are  constantly  agitating  the  air  and  scene 
Until  our  hotel,  crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity,  is 
obliged  to  close  its  doors  against  new-comers.  Our 
hotel  is  admirably  situated  upon  one  of  the  finest 
streets,  whose  gay,  moving  crowds  afford  material  for 
pleasant  contemplation.  At  eventide,  particularly,  the 
panorama  is  an  animated  and  brilliant  one.  The  Ger- 
man husband  and  wife,  with  their  children,  dressed  in 
gala  costume,  sally  forth  to  spend  an  enjoyable  hour  or 
so  at  the  beer- gardens,  which  are  popular  institu- 
tions in  this  country.  Travellers  contribute  another 
element  to  the  throng  and  to  the  babel  of  tongues. 
The  military,  of  whom  there  are  about  twenty-five 
thousand  in  the  city,  by  their  jaunty  manner,  the  gay 
colors  of  their  uniforms,  and  the  inspiriting  ring  of 
their  rattling  swords,  form  a  conspicuous  feature  of  the 
scene.  We  have  always  found  that  a  mingling  of  the 
military  in  a  crowd  is  very  effective  and  exhilarating. 
The  flashing  in  and  out  of  their  gaudy  colors  amid  the 
more  sombre  hues  of  the  civilians'  dress  ;  the  imposing 
epaulets  and  other  showy  decorations,  glittering  even 
in  the  dusk  of  evening,  and,  above  all,  the  perpetual 
ringing  of  swords,  give  a  spirited  tone  to  an  occasion 
otherwise  tame   and   ordinary.     There  are   evidently 


170  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

many  epauletted  Lotharios  circulating  in  the  crowd, 
waiting  to  be  caught  by  some  feminine  hook,  needing 
no  other  bait  than  pretty,  inviting  eyes. 

In  visiting  the  Palace,  we  are  lost  in  a  perfect  maze 
of  splendor.  Full  of  art-treasures,  our  eyes  are  yet 
diverted  to  other  objects,  such  as  the  bed  in  one  of  the 
royal  chambers,  whose  draperies  cost  the  almost  incred- 
ible sum  of  eighty  thousand  pounds !  They  are  of 
brocade,  entirely  covered  with  hand-wrought  embroid- 
ery in  pure  gold  thread.  The  needle-work  is  wonder- 
fully done,  and  the  gold  employed  in  its  manufacture 
of  fabulous  amount,  as  it  almost  conceals  the  ground- 
work of  the  material.  Other  rooms  abound  in  costly 
ornaments  and  chandeliers,  rare  pictures,  porcelain, 
paintings,  and  in  frescoes,  which  form  an  illustrated 
history  of  the  past,  introducing  characters  and  depict- 
ing the  prominent  events  in  the  history  of  the  Bavarian 
Kingdom.  We  know  of  no  palace  that  excels  this  in 
richness  of  treasure  and  in  the  showiness  of  its  appoint- 
ments. The  Throne  Hall,  the  last  of  the  seemingly 
endless  suite  of  royal  apartments,  is  one  hundred  and 
six  feet  long,  and  seventy-three  wide.  On  each  side 
are  ten  pillars  of  white  marble  in  the  Corinthian  style, 
which,  surmounted  by  gilded  capitals,  support  the 
galleries.  Between  the  columns  are  twelve  statues  rep- 
resenting princes  of  the  houses  of  Wittelbach  in  gilded 
bronze.     Each  statue  weighs  about  one  and  a  half  tons. 


MUNICH.  171 

Wishing  to  witness  the  effect  of  the  whole  range  of 
salons,  we  mount  the  steps  leading  to  the  throne,  which 
stands  opposite  the  open  doors,  commanding  a  view  ex- 
tending six  hundred  and  fifty-six  feet  beyond !  The 
custodian,  probably  recognizing  our  nationality,  and 
seeing  that  we  do  not  aspire  to  the  throne  itself,  as 
some  royal  neighbors  have  done  in  times  past,  offers 
no  resistance.  Each  apartment  being  grand  in  itself, 
the  effect  of  all,  as  seen  instantaneously,  can  be  but 
faintly  imagined. 

In  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  on  a  hill,  stands  a  colossal 
bronze  statue,  representing  the  Protectress  of  Bavaria, 
with  a  lion  at  her  side.  It  is  elevated  upon  a  platform, 
on  which  rests  the  pedestal ;  the  two  equal  the  height 
of  the  statue,  which  is  sixty-one  and  a  half  feet  high. 
Entering  the  figure,  we  see  a  flight  of  iron  steps,  sixty- 
six  in  number,  which  leads  through  the  pedestal  to  the 
knees.  Now  appears  a  narrow  spiral  staircase  which 
terminates  at  the  head,  within  which  are  seats  for  any 
eight  persons  who  have  the  courage  to  ascend  thus  far. 
Becoming  almost  stifled  with  the  heat,  a  little  fright- 
ened by  the  contracted  space,  and  dizzy  with  the 
height,  we  turn  on  reaching  the  chest,  and  contrive 
to  regain  terra  fir  ma  intact.  Others  of  the  party,  how- 
ever, venture  to  the  apex,  enjoying  the  extended  view 
through  the  mammoth  eyes  of  the  statue.  Does  not 
Shakspeare  exclaim,  "  How  bitter  a  thing  it  is  to  look 


172  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

into  happiness  through  another  man's  eyes"?  This 
is  a  woman ;  a  fact  which  may,  however,  add  to  the 
beauty,  because  seen  through  the  feminine  medium. 

The  "  English  Garden"  is  one  of  the  most  pleasing 
of  parks,  and  indeed  we  find  in  almost  every  city  a 
common  breathing-place  for  the  people,  such  as  inflates 
the  public  lungs  with  the  purest  air,  scented  with  the 
freshest  fragrance  from  living  flowers ;  emerald  lawns ; 
fountains  whose  crystal  sprays,  when  entangled  in  the 
sunbeams,  rain  illuminated  drops,  like  opals,  far  and 
wide;  temples,  pavilions,  and  towers,  all  pretty  con- 
ceits of  architecture  in  its  light  and  playful  mood ;  and 
trees  that,  inanimate  as  they  are,  suggest  to  human 
minds  native  dignity,  nobility,  and  firm  endurance. 

This  Bavarian  city  owes  much  of  its  improvements 
and  embellishments  to  King  Ludwig  L,  who  was  a 
special  patron  of  art  in  its  varied  forms  of  architecture, 
sculpture,  and  painting.  He  helped  materially  to  make 
Munich  the  inviting  city  it  is  in  beauty  and  in  manifold 
fascinations. 

How  strange  it  is  that  one  whose  soul  is  animated 
with  quick  perceptions  of  the  elevated  and  beautiful ; 
whose  ideas  assume  aesthetic  forms;  whose  thoughts 
wander  in  the  realm  of  harmony,  art,  and  lovely  ideals; 
whose  longings  go  out  toward  the  graceful,  the  grand, 
and  the  artistic ; — how  strange,  we  think,  that  such  a 
soul  should  fail  to  possess  in  its  moral  instincts  a  corre- 


CARLSBAD.  173 

sponding  delicacy  of  thought  and  sentiment ;  that  he  who 
was  so  keenly  awake  to  the  beauty  of  art,  to  its  purity  of 
conception,  and  to  its  faultless  symmetrical  expression 
should  foster  in  the  same  soul  the  germ  of  impurity, 
permitting  it  to  ripen  through  gross  indulgence ! 

We  remember,  then,  with  mingled  surprise  and 
regret,  that  Ludwig  I.,  to  whom  the  Bavarian  capital, 
and  through  it,  the  travelled  worlds  are  indebted  for  an 
abundant  ministry  to  their  cultured,  aesthetic  tastes  by 
grand  architecture,  superb  paintings,  and  sculptured 
monuments,  was,  through  his  vices  and  follies,  which 
disgraced  even  his  old  age,  compelled  by  a  disgusted 
people  to  abdicate  in  favor  of  his  son. 

CARLSBAD. 

There  are  many  places  at  which  the  traveller  touches 
that  seem,  like  certain  human  characters,  to  be  so  ex- 
uberant with  life,  so  bright,  cheery,  and  sunny,  that  one 
gladly  seeks  them  and  lingers  in  their  proximity,  hoping 
to  absorb  a  portion  of  their  surplus  joy ousness.  These 
are  great  light-centres  which  we  approach  with  eager- 
ness and  hover  near  through  an  irresistible  attraction ; 
and  so  susceptible  is  our  spiritual  nature  that  we  are 
deeply  impressed  by  these  influences,  and  so  absorbent, 
too,  that  we  can  scarcely  fail  to  bear  away  with  us  a 
supply  of  acquired  stimulation,  which  only  disappears 
gradually  from  the  receptive  store-house  of  our  mind. 


174  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

Such  a  spot  is  Carlsbad,  one  of  the  most  famous  water- 
ing-places in  Germany;  its  springs  among  the  most 
celebrated  in  the  world.  The  town  is  situated  very 
prettily  in  a  deep  valley  of  the  river  Tepl,  and  is  very 
enticing  in  its  suburbs,  affording  beautiful  drives  and 
embracing  very  fine  views.  The  really  providential 
discovery  of  these  springs  was  made,  according  to  the 
tradition  of  the  country,  in  a  very  singular  manner. 
Although  known  in  the  seventh  century,  they  were 
forgotten,  or  not  utilized,  until  the  year  1358,  when 
Charles  IV.,  while  hunting  one  day,  hearing  the  piteous 
cries  of  one  of  his  hounds,  discovered  him  in  a  hot 
spring,  where  he  had  fallen  while  pursuing  game.  The 
king's  physician  suggested  his  trying  the  waters  with 
the  hope  of  obtaining  relief  for  a  disorder  in  his  foot. 
The  malady  disappearing  upon  repeated  applications,  the 
fame  of  the  springs  was  established,  their  waters  from 
that  time  being  devoted  "to  the  healing  of  the  nations." 
They  were  called  after  their  royal  discoverer,  the  name 
Carlsbad  signifying  "  Charles's  bath."  Their  tempera- 
ture varying  from  one  hundred  and  seventeen  to  one 
hundred  and  sixty-five  degrees  Fahrenheit,  they  are 
the  hottest  springs  in  Europe.  The  Sprudel,  the  hot- 
test of  the  nine,  rises  with  great  volume  three  feet  high, 
and  makes  the  atmosphere  around  it  uncomfortable  by 
its  steam  and  heat. 

Leaving  our  hotel  at  one  end  of  the  valley,  we  saunter 


CARLSBAD.  175 

down  the  street  and  mingle  in  a  scene  full  of  brilliancy 
and  animation.  Although  the  natural  surroundings 
and  the  situation  of  the  sequestered  village  are  very 
romantic, — its  buildings  clustering  in  a  deep  ravine  or 
valley,  penetrated  by  a  river  with  one  small  bridge  of 
one  pretty  arch  ;  hills  overshadowing  it  and  most  um- 
brageous trees  embowering  its  streets, — yet  we  think  the 
fascination  is  vested  in  its  extreme  phase  of  social  life. 
The  broad  street  lined  with  hotels  is  swarming  with 
life  as  gay,  as  happy  as  we  have  ever  seen,  the  very 
air  is  murmurous  with  voices,  all  in  their  lightest  tones. 
No  duty  harassing,  no  haste  visible  on  the  faces  or  in 
the  manner  of  the  brilliant  dames,  sparkling  youths,  and 
fashionable  men  who  throng  the  street.  Life  here, 
apparently,  has  no  duties.  Elegant  leisure  rules  the 
hour.  Hundreds  of  chairs  outside  the  cafes  all  filled 
with  bright  chatterers;  music  drowning  in  deeper 
melody  the  minor  notes  of  the  human  voice ;  verdure 
abounding,  and  flowers,  as  if  jealous  of  the  tinted  cheeks 
and  rosy  lips  on  every  side,  wave  their  bright  banners 
yet  more  gayly  in  the  sunny  breeze.  Open  bazaars  dis- 
play gorgeous  ornaments  and  gems ;  all  is  gay  bustle  and 
pleasant  confusion.  It  would  be  difficult  for  any  sober 
stay-at-home  American  who,  if  he  drinks,  does  it  pri- 
vately, and  when  he  eats  sits  within-doors,  to  imagine 
polished  men  and  refined,  but  fashionable,  women 
sitting  out  on  the  public  thoroughfare  flirting,  laughing, 


176  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

and  talking  over  brimming,  sparkling  glasses  of  foam- 
ing beer,  drinking  even  deeper  draughts  of  worldly 
pleasure. 

The  scene  is  dazzling  and  full  of  effervescing  spirit. 
No  hint  is  there  of  sickness,  poverty,  or  death.  If  such 
thoughts  intrude  they  seem  vagaries  of  the  brain,  and 
flit  by,  untenacious,  amid  such  a  whirl  of  idle,  although 
innocent,  dissipation. 

The  sweetest  pleasure  often  awaits  one  when,  after 
taking  a  carriage  and  lolling  back  luxuriously,  an  utter 
surrender  is  made  of  every  faculty  to  the  ephemeral 
influences  of  the  hour.  And  yet  no,  not  ephemeral, 
for  when  the  soul  revels  in  a  joy  fed  by  the  purest 
fountains  of  nature,  catching  the  brightness  of  the  sun- 
beams; fancy  borrowing  the  celestial  blue  of  the  sky  in 
which  to  paint  her  thought;  the  breezes  per  Laps  stimu- 
lating into  fresher  exercise  those  servants  of  the  brain, 
unfettered  imagination,  dreamy  revery,  and  idle  phan- 
tasy, memory,  jealous  of  its  prerogative,  hastens  to  assert 
it,  and  records  with  diamond  point,  upon  her  imperish- 
able tablets,  moments  thus  spent  in  richest  pleasure. 
We  are  sure  that  with  ineffaceable  touch  she  will  record 
the  sweet  experiences  of  this  summer  afternoon,  when 
the  "gods"  so  fill  the  hour,  that  when  it  closes  we  shall 
not  exclaim,  "  Behold,  an  hour  of  our  life  is  gone,"  but 
rather,  "  We  have  lived  an  hour !" 

We  approach   a  wood  and  penetrate  its  beautiful 


CARLSBAD.  177 

vistas,  meeting  many  of  the  gay  denizens  of  the  little 
village  we  have  left,  who,  with  their  sparkling  gems, 
are  lighting  up,  as  with  stars,  the  shady  bowers  of  the 
grove ;  appearing,  with  their  bright  dresses,  like  varie- 
gated flowers  amid  the  waving  grass.  Great  cafes 
embowered  in  green  are  tempting  the  saunterers,  and 
music  arises  from  all  parts  of  the  extensive  grove.  On 
we  drive  through  miles  of  beauty,  catching  glimpses 
occasionally  of  "hills  peeping  o'er  hills,"  and  of  the  far- 
away glory  of  the  radiant  sky  above  and  around  them, 
until  we  reach  a  large  manufactory,  where  our  eyes  are 
delighted,  and  the  purses  of  many  are  depleted,  by  the 
tempting  display  of  exquisite  porcelain. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

BERLIN— POTSDAM— NUREMBERG. 

BERLIN. 

Berlin  is  one  of  the  most  brilliant  of  European 
cities.  Its  finest  street,  Unter  den  Linden,  is  really  mag- 
nificent in  width,  foliage,  imposing  palaces,  fine  hotels, 
and  showy  stores.  It  is  fifty-three  feet  wide,  with  a 
double  row  of  lime-trees,  to  which  it  owes  its  name. 
Several  years  since,  the  trees  which  bordered  this  grand 
boulevard  were  the  pride  of  the  city ;  but  the  com- 
paratively recent  introduction  of  the  gas-pipes  injured 
them  to  such  a  degree  that  gradually  one  after  another 
died,  being  immediately  replaced  by  younger  and 
smaller  ones.  We  hear  many  regrets  expressed  that 
the  grand  old  trees  have  yielded  to  the  blighting  effects 
of  modern  improvements,  and  that  so  long  a  time 
must  elapse  before  their  successors  can  win  an  equal 
reputation  for  size  and  beauty.  The  Unter  den  Lin- 
den extends  to  the  Brandenburg  Gate,  which  is  sur- 
mounted by  a  chariot  drawn  by  four  horses,  in  which 
a  figure  symbolizing  "Victory"  is  seated.  The  chariot- 
178 


BERLIN.  179 

was  taken  to  Paris  by  the  French  in  1807,  but  was 
recovered  after  the  battle  of  Waterloo  in  1814. 

The  streets  of  Berlin,  grand  in  their  width,  regu- 
larity, and  architectural  buildings,  are  further  embel- 
lished with  numberless  monuments  and  statues  of  mili- 
tary heroes  and  the  great  in  science  and  art.  The  eques- 
trian statue  of  Frederick  the  Great  at  the  east  end  of 
the  Linden  is  universally  conceded  to  be  the  finest 
monument  of  its  kind  in  Europe.  While  the  main 
purpose  has  been  to  commemorate  the  greatness  of  the 
"great"  king,  and  to  testify  to  a  nation's  enduring 
remembrance,  yet  he  is  made  the  nucleus  of  much 
subordinate  distinction,  many  of  the  celebrated  char- 
acters of  his  reign  having  a  niche  for  a  sculptured 
tribute  ur  the  sections  of  the  pedestal.  The  founda- 
tion-stone of  this  magnificent  memorial  was  laid  on 
May  31,  1840,  the  one  hundredth  anniversary  of 
Frederick's  accession  to  the  Prussian  throne;  its  in- 
auguration taking  place  in  1851.  That  kingdoms  are 
not  always  forgetful  and  ungrateful,  is  proven  by  this 
superb  tribute  to  the  unselfish  patriotism  of  a  man 
who  sought  in  every  way  to  secure  the  aggrandizement 
of  his  native  land,  making  his  remarkable  genius 
tributary  to  its  advancement  and  power. 

The  vanity  and  pride  of  the  people  are  perpetually 
fed  by  a  conspicuous  reminder  of  their  military  prowess 
in  the  dazzling  and  splendid  monument  of  "Victory" 


180  WANDERISG    THOUGHTS. 

in  the  centre  of  Konig's-Platz.  It  stands  one  hundred 
and  ninety-eight  feet  high ;  the  square  pedestal  is  cov- 
ered with  reliefs  in  bronze,  celebrating  early  victories 
and  those  of  1870-71 :  on  the  north,  the  battle  of 
Koniggratz;  on  the  east  side,  the  Danish  war  of  1864; 
on  the  west,  the  battle  of  Sedan,  1870;  and  on  the 
south,  the  return  of  the  troops,  1871.  A  few  steps 
higher  is  the  "Hall  of  Victory,"  encircled  by  Doric 
columns.  From  this  hall  ascends  a  pillar  of  sandstone, 
in  the  flutings  of  which  are  placed  three  rows  of  Danish, 
Austrian,  and  French  cannon.  The  summit  consists  of 
a  figure  gorgeously  gilt,  forty-two  feet  high. 

The  palace  occupied  by  the  present  Emperor  is  re- 
markably unostentatious  in  its  dimensions  and  appear- 
ance externally;  but  the  Royal  Palace  or  Schloss,  time- 
honored,  having  been  founded  as  a  fortress  in  1443, 
was  completed,  after  various  intervening  changes,  in 
1716,  and  is  now  principally  used  on  festive  occasions 
and  in  entertaining  royal  guests.  The  palace  contains 
six  hundred  apartments,  only  a  few  representative  ones 
being  shown.  In  the  Throne-Room  is  an  immense  buffet 
covered  with  gold  plate.  Near  this  is  a  large  orna- 
mental beer-barrel  with  silver  faucet  and  trimmings, 
provided  for  the  king  Frederick  William  I.,  father  of 
Frederick  the  Great,  whose  royal  thirst  was  so  excess- 
ive that  it  must  be  thus  liberally  provided  for.  We 
think  if  he  could  only  have  imbibed  more  freely  of  the 


BERLIN.  181 

"milk  of  human  kindness,"  the  life  of  his  illustrious 
son  would  have  been  a  happier  one.     A  magnificent 
chandelier  of  rock-crystal,  suspended  in  the  same  apart- 
ment, is  the  one  under  which  Martin  Luther  is  said  to 
have  stood  when  he  made  his  famous  defence  at  Worms. 
It  was  subsequently  purchased  and  transferred  to  the 
Berlin  Palace.     We  look  upon  the  silent,  unconscious 
witness  of  the  heroic  man's  trial  with  intense  interest ; 
recalling    his   words  when    urged    to   fly  the  danger 
thought  to  be  waiting  him  at  Worms :  "  Though  there 
are  as  many  devils  in  Worms  as  tiles  upon  the  house- 
tops, I  will  enter  it."     Intrepid  soul !  and  so  he  did ; 
and  before  a  tribunal  of  three  hundred  inimical  judges 
— the  Emperor  and  his  nobility — he  argued,  as  did  Paul 
before  Felix,  "reasoning  of  righteousness;"  vindicating, 
through  the  Scriptures,  the  justness  of  his  opinions  and 
the  glory  of  his  faith ;    and,  guarded  by  ministering 
angels,  like  Paul,  he  was  allowed  to  go  his  "  way  for 
this  time." 

On  we  wander,  through  salons  glittering  in  gold  and 
silver  decorations  and  in  satin  brocades  a  hundred  years 
old ;  our  eyes  gratified  by  pictures,  portraits  of  cele- 
brated men,  statues  of  Carrara  marble,  and  frescoes  of 
great  beauty.  Our  delight  culminates  in  the  wonderful 
dimensions  and  chaste  ornamentation  of  the  "  White 
Hall," — the  largest  room  in  the  palace,  one  hundred 
and  eight  feet  long  and   fifty-one  wide,— hung  with 


182  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

sparkling  crystal  chandeliers,  and  adorned  with  marble 
statues,  among  which  is  an  exquisite  figure  of  "Vic- 
tory," by  Rauch. 

The  Royal  Chapel  contains  a  crucifix  of  silver,  seven 
feet  in  height,  set  with  precious  stones  and  valued  at 
eighty  thousand  pounds.  The  altar  also  invites  inspec- 
tion, being  of  alabaster,  a  present  from  Mehemet  Ali, 
Viceroy  of  Egypt. 

Driving  through  the  streets  to  the  depot,  on  leaving 
Berlin,  we  pass  by  a  plain,  substantial  mansion,  stand- 
ing back  from  the  street,  with  a  pleasant  yard  in  front, 
filled  with  massive  groups  of  green  shrubbery.  It 
wears  an  air  of  eminent  respectability,  of  solid  satisfac- 
tion, as  it  wrere,  with  itself;  as  if  its  inmates  were  at 
peace  with  themselves  and  with  the  world  at  large;  life 
and  they  shaking  hands  in  good-fellowship.  We  turn 
inquiringly  to  the  guide,  who  answers  our  unspoken 
inquiry  in  the  simple  words,  "  'Tis  Bismark's  house." 
We  are  glad  to  see  the  home  of  the  giant-brained  man 
who  has  made  his  country  the  leading  monarchical 
power  of  Europe,  and  who  has  left  his  impress  strongly 
marked  upon  the  political  history  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  We  trust  that  he  will  be  allowed  to  retire 
while  his  honors  lie  thick  upon  him,  and  before  the 
coming  king,  who  is  said  to  be  inimical  to  him,  has 
opportunity  of  doing  him  any  disrespect. 


POTSDAM.  183 


POTSDAM. 


Potsdam,  very  naturally  styled  the  "Versailles  of 
Prussia,"  is  half  an  hour  distant  by  rail  from  Berlin. 
We  first  visit  the  Royal  Palace,  and  wander  with  pleas- 
ure through  the  apartments  once  occupied  by  Frederick 
the  Great,  which,  remaining  unchanged,  contain  many 
souvenirs,  such  as  his  hat,  scarf,  and  writing-table 
spotted  with  ink,  his  music-stand,  and  the  furniture, 
whose  covering  is  defaced  by  the  dogs  who  were  his 
petted  and  favorite  companions. 

His  bedroom  opens  into  a  small  dining-room  having 
a  trap-door  set  in  the  floor,  through  which  the  table 
rose  laden,  with  perhaps  eel-pie,  as  that  was  his  favorite 
dish,  disappearing  at  the  conclusion  of  his  meal  in  the 
same  magical  manner,  thus  doing  away  with  the  pres- 
ence of  curious  servants  during  political  or  private  dis- 
cussions. 

But  the  most  agreeable  visit  is  made  to  Sans  Souci, 
in  the  suburbs  of  Potsdam,  whose  palace  park  is  an 
Elim,  with  its  beautiful  waters  and  trees.  The  great 
fountain,  which  throws  a  jet  nearly  one  hundred  and 
twenty  feet  high,  its  basin  surrounded  by  marble 
groups  of  mythological  characters,  is  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill  on  which  stands  the  charming  little  palace,  reached 
by  terraces  covered  with  flowering  trees  and  conserva- 
tories.  This  was  Frederick's  favorite  resort,  and  where 


184  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

he  entertained  his  ungrateful  and  cynical  friend  Vol- 
taire. The  king's  apartments  are  as  he  left  them.  His 
choice  collection  of  books,  some  of  which  retain  the  crit- 
ical remarks  pencilled  on  their  margin  by  Voltaire;  the 
couch  and  chair,  both  of  which  contradictorily  share  the 
honor  of  having  supported  the  dying  king  in  his  last 
moments;  and  the  clock  which  he  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  winding,  its  hands  pointing  to  the  hour  of  his  death, 
twenty  minutes  past  two ;  its  ticking  said  to  have  ceased 
at  the  moment  of  the  spirit's  departure.  There  it  has 
stood  untouched  for  nearly  a  hundred  years,  a  silent 
memento  of  a  solemn  and  sacred  scene.  How  sad  to 
think  that  the  great  spirit,  so  full  of  worldly  wisdom, 
left  the  earthly  throne,  which  it  had  adorned,  to  appear 
before  the  heavenly  one,  doubting,  skeptical,  or  utterly 
indifferent  to  the  realities  of  an  eternal  future !  That 
he  who  boasted  of  having  set  his  earthly  kingdom  in 
perfect  order,  even  to  the  smallest  details,  should  have 
spent  no  thought  or  made  no  known  preparation  for 
the  endless  life  of  his  own  immortal  soul !  ~Not  far 
from  Frederick's  apartments  are  those  which  were  oc- 
cupied by  Voltaire  when  the  familiar  and  honored 
guest  of  the  Prussian  king.  These  also  remain  as  when 
left  by  this  man,  great  in  brain-power,  but  too  little  and 
mean  in  heart-qualities  to  retain  the  friendship  won  by 
the  fascination  which  a  brilliant  intellect  exercises  over 
other  cultured  minds.     His  innate  vanity  and  inherent 


POTSDAM.  185 

selfishness  always  blighted  the  bud  of  affection  felt  for 
him,  or  if  perchance  it  blossomed  prematurely  in  the 
light  of  his  brilliant  talents,  it  was  inevitably  blasted 
through  his  cynicism  and  inordinate  self-conceit.  In 
examining  the  furniture  we  found  its  tapestry  covered 
with  illustrations  from  La  Fontaine's  Fables,  a  fact 
which  affords  a  little  incident  characteristic  of  the  pleas- 
ant intercourse  existing  between  the  host,  royal  in  rank, 
and  the  guest,  royal  in  intellect.  Voltaire,  always  dis- 
paraging La  Fontaine,  whose  powers,  although  not 
profound,  were  surely  possessed  of  some  elements  of 
excellence,  instigated  perhaps  by  literary  jealousy, 
refused  to  concede  to  the  Fables  the  merit  which  the 
world  awards  them.  Frederick,  espousing  the  cause 
of  La  Fontaine,  took  advantage  of  a  temporary  ab- 
sence of  Voltaire  and  ordered  his  furniture  to  be  cov- 
ered with  representations  of  some  of  the  principal 
Fables.  Tradition  fails  to  picture  the  chagrin  of  the 
subject  of  the  joke,  who,  as  a  guest,  could  not  complain 
of  the  appointments  of  his  apartments.  Another  sub- 
stantial proof  of  the  king's  playful  humor  towards  his 
friends  is  seen  in  the  corridor  of  the  palace,  where 
stands  on  a  pedestal  a  fine  statue  of  Venus.  Below  it, 
on  the  floor,  rests  the  bust  of  one  of  his  generals. 
This  poor  unfortunate,  as  the  fact  of  his  being  a 
woman-hater  proves  him  to  have  been,  took  great 
pleasure  in  giving  free  expression  to  his  aversion  to 

9* 


186  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

the  sex.  Frederick,  who,  although  not  a  lover  of  his 
kind,  yet  cherished  no  special  dislike  to  woman,  devised 
the  ingenious  plan  of  punishing  so  unnatural  and  un- 
manly a  trait  by  procuring  a  bust  of  the  general  and 
giving  it  permanent  place  at  the  feet  of  the  marble  statue 
which  adorns  so  conspicuous  a  place  in  his  palace. 

Must  there  not  have  been  a  jarring  chord  in  that 
brave  soldier's  nature,  that  at  the  touch  of  some  memory 
gave  forth  discordant  notes,  but  which,  on  the  strange 
principle  of  compensation,  might  have  been  tuned  into 
harmony  by  some  feminine  hand? 

66  To  a  man  who  has  had  a  mother"  should  not  "  all 
women  be  sacred  for  her  sake"  ?  And  may  not  respect 
and  regard  for  the  sex  prove  an  "  aegis"  to  a  bachelor, 
and  a  sun,  as  well  as  shield,  warming  into  active  life 
those  emotions  and  principles  which  are  often  dormant 
in  the  masculine  nature? 

Passing  out  of  the  bright  little  palace,  whose  win- 
dows look  upon  as  fair  a  scene  as  the  eye  or  soul  could 
covet,  we  walk  a  few  steps  to  the  end  of  the  terrace, 
and  stand  beside  several  flat  tablets,  whose  inscriptions 
inform  us  that  the  favorite  dogs  and  the  charger  of  the 
king  are  buried  here.  The  king's  fondness  for  these 
was  a  marked  peculiarity  of  his  character,  giving  to 
these  dumb,  soulless,  and  yet  intelligent  creatures  the 
affection  he  withheld  from  human  kind.  And  so  skep- 
tical   was   he   of    those   noblest  traits — sincerity   and 


POTSDAM.  187 

fidelity — in  his  fellow-men,  that  he  preferred  to  bs- 
stovv  upon  the  brute  creation  the  affection  he  refused 
to  his  wife  and  to  others.  It  is  said  that  in  a  certain 
battle  one  of  his  dogs  was  lost,  remaining  absent  for 
some  time,  and  that  upon  its  return  it  manifested  such 
excessive  delight  on  seeing  its  master  that  the  king 
burst  into  tears.  It  is  also  a  well-known  fact  that 
he  directed  that  his  body  after  death  should  share  the 
grave  with  his  already  buried  horse.  This  request, 
however,  was  not  complied  with. 

A  short  distance  from  the  palace  stands  the  historic 
windmill,  occupying  ground  now  belonging  to  the 
crown,  but  which  once  so  strongly  excited  the  covetous 
desire  of  Frederick.  Well  was  it,  for  the  modern  Na- 
both,  that  he  was  not  resisting  an  Ahab,  whose  wife 
could  resort  to  sanguinary  means  to  secure  the  treasure. 
As  it  is,  the  quaint  old  mill  stands  as  a  memorial  of 
justice  and  a  vindicator  of  the  majesty  of  law. 

And  now  that  we  have,  through  familiar  souvenirs, 
seen  the  home-life  of  Frederick,  we  follow  him  to  his 
final  resting-place  in  the  "Garrison  Church,"  in  the 
village  of  Potsdam.  It  is  an  exceeding  plain,  old  struc- 
ture, erected  by  Frederick's  father,  Frederick  William 
I.  On  the  walls  hang  flags,  taken  in  various  battles,  and 
in  rear  of  the  pulpit  are  mahogany  receptacles,  where 
are  preserved  the  uniforms  worn  by  the  three  sovereigns 
who  formed  the  "Holy  Alliance."     Not  in  a  snbter- 


188  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

ranean  vault,  although  beneath  the  pulpit,  is  the  plain 
metallic  coffin  which  contains  the  remains  of  a  "mighty 
man  of  valor,"  one  who  in  the  face  of  tremendous 
disadvantages  compelled  the  great  nations  of  Europe 
to  acknowledge  his  military  genius  and  to  succumb  to 
his  superior  military  tactics.  We  remember  that  the 
lowest  order  of  man  may  have  brute  or  physical  force, 
and  successfully  exercise  it;  but  pre-eminent  above 
physical  courage,  and  even  that  genius  that  boldly 
organizes  mighty  campaigns,  leading  vast  armies  on  to 
battle  and  to  conquest,  is  the  moral  strength  that  sup- 
ports a  grand  spirit  amid,  it  would  seem,  overwhelming 
discouragements;  and  that  irresistible  pluck  which  car- 
ries him  through  difficulties  before  which  even  many 
stout  hearts  would  quail.  The  world  now,  in  the  unim- 
passioned  view  by  which  time  permits  past  actions  and 
long-buried  lives  to  be  judged, — and  'tis  a  certain  test, 
— pronounces  this  man  to  be  worthy  of  the  grand  and 
rarely  deserved  title  of  "Great."  We  turn  our  eyes 
to  the  marble  sarcophagus  of  the  only  other  silent  in- 
cumbent of  this  sepulchral  chamber.  We  gaze  almost 
ironically,  at  least  bitterly,  upon  it.  The  massive 
casket  encloses  the  heartless  form  of  Frederick  Wil- 
liam I.,  the  father  of  the  "  Great"  King,  and  his  im- 
mediate predecessor. 

We  believe  that  there  is  almost  a  divine  element  in 
parental  sentiment  and  relations;  that  parentage  is  the 


POTSDAM.  189 

coronation  of  married  life;  that  heaven  in  the  bestowal 
of  a  child  is  endowing  wedlock  with  a  sublime  trust ; 
that  its  immortal  soul  is  like  a  precious,  although  crude, 
gem,  to  be  shaped  and  polished  with  the  tenderest 
care,  that  it  may  one  day  be  worthy  to  shine  in  the 
Redeemer's  crown ;  that'  to  insure  the  happiness — as 
well  as  to  minister  to  the  moral  and  mental  training — 
of  the  child  is  a  solemn  obligation;  that  a  child  may 
claim  as  its  birthright  a  happy  childhood ;  that  smiles 
should  play  around  its  youthful  steps,  as  heaven  has 
taught  the  sunbeams  to  brighten  the  world's  pathway. 
That  no  shadows  should  be  voluntarily  allowed  to 
throw  their  lengthening  gloom  over  a  long  life ;  that 
while  the  child  should  be  restrained  by  uniform  and 
gentle  firmness,  it  be  made  glad  by  the  fond  affection 
of  the  parents'  hearts. 

We  can  see,  without  aid  of  imagination,  the  perni- 
cious effects  upon  King  Frederick's  whole  after-life  of 
a  gloomy  childhood,  in  his  case  of  a  frightfully  dark 
one.  His  father,  a  man  of  brutal  instincts,  tortured 
the  childhood  and  tyrannized  over  the  youth  and 
manhood  of  his  noble  son;  using  personal  violence, 
and  even  meditating  the  condemning  him  to  death. 
Few  temperaments  could  prove  invulnerable  to  these 
influences.  Failing  to  receive  affection  from  the  source 
where  he  had  a  right  to  expect  it,  he  became  skeptical 
of  the   existence   of    all   lesser   emotions.     Disgusted 


190  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

with  a  religion  whose  most  rigorous  forms  had  been 
imposed  upon  him ;  seeing  none  of  its  gentle  benig- 
nity in  the  life  of  the  father  who  compelled  its  strictest 
observance,  he  eschewed  it  forever,  when  freed  from 
the  father's  tyranny,  and  died  without  hope  in  the 
immortal  life.  Forced  to  marry  a  woman  for  whom 
he  had  no  regard,  he  ignored  the  duties  compulsorily 
thrust  upon  him,  declining  to  accept  the  wife  of  an- 
other's choosing ;  testifying,  however,  before  his  death 
to  the  unblemished  character  and  virtue  of  his  virgin 
wife. 

"  Pitying  him,"  as  did  Desdemona  Othello,  "  for 
the  distressful  strokes  that  his  youth  suffered,"  who 
would  not  heave  a  sigh  as  they  stand  by  the  tomb  of 
this  "  great"  man,  who  found  so  little  of  cheer  in  this 
world's  social  and  friendly  relations,  as  to  prefer  to 
lie  in  death  beside  his  horse,  who  was  wont  in  life  to 
neigh  at  his  approach  and  to  return,  according  to  his 
capacity,  the  affection  bestowed  by  his  fond  master  ? 

As  we  look  down  upon  the  simple  coffin,  we  hope 
that  the  heavenly  Father  has  been  more  merciful  than 
was  the  earthly  to  the  son,  who,  we  believe,  had  he  been 
reared  in  an  atmosphere  of  love  and  kindness;  who 
if  his  life  had  not  been  robbed  of  heaven's  richest 
boon, — a  happy  childhood, — would  have  been  free  from 
many  of  those  faults  and  foibles  which  marred  his 
otherwise  noble  character.     That  if  a  wife  voluntarily 


NUREMBERG.  191 

won,  and  children  the  fruit  of  that  love,  had  cheered 
his  private  life,  a  portraiture  of  his  social  and  do- 
mestic habits  might  have  brightened  the  pages  of  his- 
tory, blending  with  the  dazzling  glory  of  his  storied 
achievements  as  a  military  leader  and  as  a  king. 

NUREMBERG. 

Nuremberg  is  a  curious,  quaint  old  city.  We  are 
glad  to  find  that  progress — the  modern  usurper — has 
failed  to  obliterate  many  traces  of  the  mediaeval  ages ; 
so  that  one  may  readily  forget  his  identity  and  become 
lost  in  this  great  past,  whose  relics  abound  on  every 
side.  We  delight  in  these  unique  phases  of  ancient 
life,  and  fear  that  we  shall  never  again  have  respect 
for  what  is  not  musty  with  age.  Indeed,  we  have 
found  ourselves  gazing  upon  embrowned  crumbling 
mummies  with  a  reverential  awe  that  a  modern  sub- 
ject would  not  inspire ;  and  upon  grimmed  old  build- 
ings with  an  inquisitive  enthusiasm  which  no  recent 
structure  could  excite.  So  fresh  are  American  eyes, 
so  unaccustomed  to  rest  upon  objects  of  antiquity,  that 
it  is  with  keen  relish  we  allow  our  attention  to  be  di- 
verted into  these  channels  of  interest  and  thought. 
With  no  venerable  "  past  at  our  back,"  the  future  is 
the  god  of  the  American's  worship.  We  live  in  ad- 
vance of  our  time;  opening  up  new  territory;  estab- 
lishing new  settlements,  founding  new  institutions,  and 


192  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

constantly  building  up  for  future  generations;  press- 
ing always  forward,  and  never  loitering  on  the  way  to 
confer  with  that  wisest  of  teachers, — the  world's  past, 
- — with  which  "'tis  greatly  wise  to  talk,"  gathering 
knowledge  and  suggestion  from  its  lessons. 

Like  many  other  cities  we  have  seen,  Nuremberg  is 
divided  by  a  river,  which,  wdth  its  bridges,  adds  to  its 
beauty  and  picturesqueness.  As  we  ride  over  one  of 
them,  we  are  pleased  wTith  the  immediate  view  of  an- 
cient buildings,  including  a  tower  now  used  as  a  prison. 
Perhaps  the  chief  feature  is  the  castle,  one  thousand 
years  old,  a  part  of  which  is  fitted  up  for  the  royal 
family.  It  is  built  high  upon  a  rock,  from  which  the 
view  is  grand.  In  an  adjacent  tower  we  contemplate 
many  repulsive  objects  with  that  fascination  which  the 
horrible  affords.  It  was  in  olden  time  the  prison  where 
criminals  were  tortured  and  executed.  Within  its 
massive  wTalls  are  collected  a  great  variety  of  instru- 
ments of  torture,  which  look  as  if  they  had  been  fre- 
quently employed  upon  suffering  humanity.  It  seems 
a  pity  that  the  names  of  their  inventors  should  not 
always  have  been  associated  with  these  proofs  of  their 
satanic  ingenuity,  so  that  the  execrations  of  each  suc- 
ceeding generation  might  be  heaped  upon  their  mem- 
ories! Following  Hainan's  precedent,  they  should  have 
been  made  to  demonstrate  the  utility  of  the  instruments 
upon  their  own  shrinking  bodies.     The  thumb-screw; 


NUREMBERG.  193 

the  pillory;  the  wheel  on  which  criminals  were  broken; 
the  chair  on  which  the  condemned  sat  while  being  be- 
headed ;  a  separate  bench,  with  two  seats,  to  accommo- 
date the  doctor  and  the  executioner,  the  doctor's  having 
a  back  attached  to  it ;  a  chair  whose  seat  was  formed  of 
sharp  points,  on  which  the  prisoner  was  pressed;  the 
horrors  perhaps  culminating  in  the  "  iron  virgin." 
This  is  a  massive  figure  seven  feet  high,  its  interior 
bristling  with  spikes  which  penetrated  the  prisoner 
when  thrust  into  it.  His  death  accomplished,  the 
body  was  released  and  allowed  to  fall  through  a  trap- 
door leading  to  subterranean  vaults.  We  see  the 
wooden  pen,  dark  and  frightful,  in  which  a  condemned 
criminal  passed  the  night  preceding  his  execution. 
But  among  these  barbarous  relics  is  one  which  sug- 
gests so  fitting  a  punishment  for  those  who  "put  an 
enemy  in  their  mouths  to  steal  away  their  brains"  that 
we  would  be  glad  to  see  it  adopted  in  our  own  country. 
It  is  a  common  barrel,  in  which  the  drunkard,  after 
being  placed  within  it,  his  head  projecting  over  the  top, 
was  driven  through  the  public  streets.  A  deep  moat 
lying  below  this  curious  old  tower,  and  originally  filled 
with  water,  is  now  a  bed  of  luxuriant  grass,  shrubs, 
and  trees. 

The  Church  of  "  St.  Lawrence,"  built  in  the  thir- 
teenth century,  is  of  beautiful  Gothic  architecture,  with 
many  ornamental  towers  and  spires.     Its  interior  is 


194  WANDERING  THOUGHTS. 

full  of  interest.  A  Gothic  pix  of  white  granite,  most 
elaborately  carved,  rises  to  a  height  of  sixty-four  feet, 
and  is  a  marvel  of  grace  and  beauty.  Its  apex  is  in 
the  form  of  a  shepherd's  crook,  and  bends  over  as  if  to 
protect  the  sculptured  beauty  below  it.  Longfellow 
thus  describes  it : — 

"In  the  church  of  sainted  Lawrence  stands  a  pix  of  sculpture 
rare, 
Like  the  foamy  sheaf  of  fountains  rising  through  the  painted 
air." 

The  windows  of  the  church  are  unusually  fine,  and 
it  is  through  them  that  the  air  is  "  painted"  in  rich 
glowing  color.  This  church,  now  belonging  to  the 
Lutherans,  was  originally  dedicated  to  the  Roman 
Catholic  faith,  and  still  retains  several  of  its  souvenirs. 
In  one  corner  of  the  church  we  see  an  ancient  altar  of 
unpainted  iron,  and  our  curiosity  is  excited  by  discov- 
ering several  human  bones  visible  through  a  grating. 
Their  presence  is  explained  in  this  wise.  A  family  of 
high  rank  missed  a  valuable  silver  tankard ;  diligent 
search  having  been  made  in  vain,  suspicion  fell  upon 
the  steward,  who,  although  protesting  his  innocence, 
was  condemned  to  torture,  confession  being  extorted 
under  its  power.  Not  restoring,  however,  the  missing 
article,  he  was  executed.  Some  time  after,  his  inno- 
cence being  proved  by  the  accidental  discovery  of  the 


NUREMBERG.  195 

tankard  in  a  remote  cupboard,  the  family,  burdened 
with  remorse,  built  this  curious  old  shrine,  and  in  ex- 
piation of  their  unjust  censure,  and  to  atone  for  its  fatal 
consequences,  exhumed  the  poor  fellow's  bones,  placing 
them  over  the  altar  consecrated  to  his  vindicated  mem- 
ory. 

In  an  opposite  nave  the  site  of  a  former  confessional 
is  pointed  out  as  associated  with  a  tragic  event  of  days 
long  gone  by.  A  young  priest,  in  accordance  with 
God-given  instincts,  the  indulgence  of  which  heaven 
encourages,  but  contrary  to  the  unnatural  law  of  his 
church, — fell  in  love!  The  object  of  his  affection  loved 
another,  and  revealed  the  fact  to  the  enamored  priest  in 
the  confessional.  Upon  leaving  it,  he  hanged  himself 
upon  a  heavy  bronze  candelabrum  suspended  near  by, 
and,  being  discovered  soon  after,  by  his  indignant  fel- 
low-priests, was  cut  down  and  summarily  ejected  from 
the  neighboring  window. 

There  are  two  bronze  fountains  in  the  town  very 
noticeable  because  of  their  unique  design.  One  is 
called  the  "  Fountain  of  the  Virtues,"  the  water  flow- 
ing from  the  breasts  of  several  large  female  figures. 
The  quaintness  of  the  design,  as  well  as  the  merit  of  its 
execution,  attracts  the  eye.  Near  the  market  is  another 
fountain,  representing  a  man  of  small. proportions,  in 
the  quaint  garb  of  a  farmer,  holding  under  his  arm  a 
goose,  from  whose  bill  issues  a  jet  of  water.     This  is 


196  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

to  commemorate  the  welcome  appearance  of  the  first 
poultry -vender  who  had  the  courage  to  enter  the 
plague-stricken  city  after  the  disease  had  spent  itself. 
So  one  is  never  allowed  in  these  ancient  cities  to  forget 
the  striking  events  of  past  ages.  All  revel  in  the  re- 
membrance of  a  rich  past;  its  heroes,  never  buried  in 
forgetfulness,  live  in  sculptured  forms  before  the  world. 
The  intelligent  traveller  finds  ample  illustration  of  the 
events  of  former  times,  with  which  he  is  familiar 
through  reading,  and  feels  somewhat  fossil-like  him- 
self, being  surrounded  by  the  stone,  bronze,  and  marble 
effigies  of  ancient  worthies.  We  begin  to  feel  that 
there  is  great  prestige  in  age  and  in  having  a  volumi- 
nous history,  and  when  speaking  of  our  own  country 
fall  back  upon  the  fact  that  it  existed — inhabited,  to  be 
sure,  by  mere  aborigines — centuries  before  its  discovery 
by  Columbus. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

HEIDELBERG— FRANKFORT. 

HEIDELBERG. 

How  often  in  some  bright  sunny  day  of  summer- 
time have  we  watched  the  busy  bee  as  it  would  flit 
from  flower  to  flower  in  the  enamelled  field,  spending 
a  fleeting  moment  in  absorbing  the  sweetness  of  the 
humble  clover;  and  then,  although  agreeably  catered 
to,  yet,  with  almost  human  fickleness,  flying  to  another 
blossom,  perhaps  to  the  simple  sweet-brier,  whose 
beauty  suggests  a  feast  even  more  luscious;  and  so,  in 
turn,  each  gay,  flaunting  flower  of  the  meadow  tempts 
the  giddy  bee  to  sip  its  nectar.  Does  not  the  insect 
find  its  counterpart  in  the  tourist,  whose  aim  is  to  taste, 
although  not  exhaust,  the  inherent  charm  of  each  city, 
as  he  speeds  on  his  "  flying  trip"  ?  And  each  one  pos- 
sesses that  individuality  which  we  associate  with  the 
human  character ;  some  peculiar  attraction,  strictly  per- 
sonal ;  each  enjoyable,  but  all  together  presenting  that 
variety  which  forms  the  pleasure  of  continuous  travel. 

Starting  anew,  we  soon  find  ourselves  in  the  famous 

197 


198  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

University  town  of  Heidelberg,  which  is  beautifully 
situated  on  the  Neckar,  at  the  base  of  the  hill  Konigs- 
tuhl.  Leaving  the  train,  we  saunter  up  to  the  hotel, 
but  a  few  steps  distant,  and  there  find,  in  its  pretty 
gardens  glowing  with  gay  flowersj  its  broad,  pleasant 
verandas,  and  cheerful  aspect,  a  bright  welcome.  We 
have  arrived  most  opportunely.  The  yearly  com- 
mencement has  just  completed  its  exercises,  and  the 
culminating  act  of  the  drama,  a  brilliant  illumination 
of  the  celebrated  castle,  is  to  be  accomplished  this  very 
evening.  This  unusual  demonstration,  only  occurring 
at  long  intervals,  is  considered  so  gorgeously  grand  that 
many  have  come  from  far  and  near  to  witness  the  dis- 
play. The  streets  are  thronged ;  vehicles  in  great  de- 
mand ;  the  hotels  crowded ;  and  expectation  beaming  in 
every  face.  We  secure  a  carriage  and  start  out  for  an 
evening's  entertainment.  Toiling  up  the  hill-side  over 
a  good  spiral  road,  we  enjoy  a  fine  prospect  of  the 
adjacent  country.  The  town  lies  below  us,  with  its 
crowded  streets;  the  Neckar  flowing  by  its  side,  and 
the  magnificent  old  castle  on  an  elevated  position,  "  the 
observed  of  all  observers."  But  the  evening  shades 
are  gathering;  a  signal  for  the  coming  event.  We 
descend  the  hill,  cross  the  river,  and  remain  in  the 
carriage,  taking  a  favorable  position  to  witness  the 
promised  display.  The  crowd  fills  the  highway ;  music 
strives  to  drown  the  discord ;  the  river  presents  an  ani- 


HEIDELBERG.  199 

mated  scene,  covered  with  gayly-decorated  boats  filled 
with  lively,  dashing  young  students  in  their  varied  and 
jaunty  little  caps,  their  colors  indicating  the  classes  to 
which  the  wearers  belong.  That  the  moon  refuses  her 
light  none  regret,  as  the  illumination  will  be  the  more 
effective  in  her  absence.  But  the  stars  also,  in  petulant 
mood,  suspecting,  perhaps,  that  their  mild  sweet  light  is 
to  be  eclipsed, — like  many  of  their  vocal  and  dramatic 
sisters, — decline  at  the  last  moment  to  appear.  The  air 
becomes  murky,  the  human  temper  impatient,  when 
suddenly,  just  as  expectation  has  ripened,  the  heavens 
open,  and  a  heavy  thunder-shower  threatens  to  engulf 
us.  The  people  disappear — who  knows  where  ?  Their 
retreat  is  always  accomplished,  under  such  circum- 
stances, in  a  mysterious  way.  Nature  soon  exhausting 
her  reservoirs,  peace  is  again  restored  to  the  elements ; 
the  crowds  regather,  and  all  eyes  are  riveted  upon 
the  castle,  which  is,  in  its  old  age,  to  be  rejuvenated 
with  youthful  fire  and  to  shine  and  dazzle  as  with 
supernatural  glow.  It  looms  up  in  solitary  grandeur 
on  the  hill-side  before  us;  gloom  pervades  its  grand 
spaces ;  darkness  looks  grimly  out  at  its  portals ;  its 
rich,  full  robes  of  ivied  green  protecting  its  sides  from 
the  dampness  of  night.  It  is  reposing  upon  its  strength 
of  centuries,  defying  Time  with  that  majestic  dignity 
that  commands  respect  for  even  an  inanimate  object. 
From  a  boat  on  the  river  a  signal  is  given,  not  seen 


200  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

by  the  waiting  crowds,  but  recognized  by  watching  eyes 
at  the  castle ;  and  now  such  a  sight  as  we  have  never 
before  witnessed  bursts  upon  our  vision.  Instanta- 
neously the  whole  structure,  magnificent  in  its  pro- 
portions, superb  in  its  carved  ornamentation,  statued 
facades,  and  in  its  stately  tower,  glows  with  a  light 
indescribable  in  glory  and  color;  at  first  absolutely 
bathed  in  a  ruby-like,  flameless  fire,  instantly  changing 
into  one  of  green  that  rivals  the  emerald  in  hue.  The 
brilliancy  gradually  fades  out,  except  from  the  tower, 
which  is  irradiated  with  a  light  almost  unearthly  in  its 
splendor,  and,  this  dying  away,  the  colossal  fabric  is 
again  enshrouded  in  the  gloom  of  night. 

The  expenses  of  this  illumination  are  defrayed  by 
the  students,  and  although  it  is  but  of  few  moments' 
duration  is  very  costly.  As  the  departure  of  the  stu- 
dents takes  place  on  the  day  following  the  exhibition, 
they,  like  other  blessings,  may  be  said  to 

"  Brighten  as  they  take  their  flight." 

The  next  morning,  during  a  drive  to  and  from  the 
castle,  we  meet  many  of  the  students,  of  whose  duelling 
practices  we,  in  common  with  the  world,  have  often 
heard.  In  the  bustle  of  departure  they  are  circulating 
everywhere;  the  streets  are  thronged  with  them,  and 
we  are  astonished  at  the  large  numbers  whose  scarred 
visages    bear    the    marks   of  disgraceful    encounters. 


HEIDELBERG.  201 

Fair  youthful  foreheads  seamed  with  deep  sabre-cuts ; 
cheeks  gashed ;  ears  split ;  and  eyes  distorted, — barely 
escaping  utter  loss.  With  what  shamefacedness  should 
they  hereafter  present  their  countenances,  marred  as 
with  the  brand  of  Cain,  in  polite  society!  Were 
their  gaping  wounds  received  on  the  battle-field  in 
honorable  conflict,  they  would  win  them  sympathy 
and  renown.  Were  the  horrid  red  lines  that  are 
deeply  graven  across  their  seared  faces  received  in 
defence  of  their  country,  they  would  be  like  badges  of 
honor,  reminding  the  world  that  those  who  wore  them 
were  of  such  stuff  as  heroes  are  made  of,  and  their  dis- 
figured faces  would  be  passports  to  the  favor  of  the 
gentle  sex,  who  admire  bravery,  patriotism,  and  all 
heroic  qualities.  We  are  informed  by  resident  parties 
that  the  evil  is  assuming  formidable  proportions,  and 
that  the  government  is  waking  up  to  the  consciousness 
of  its  enormity.  The  police  either  cower  under  the 
united  strength  of  some  hundreds  of  gay,  reckless 
youths,  and  so  wink  at  their  infringement  of  the  laws; 
or  they  are  corrupted  by  the  full  purses  of  the  rich,  and 
often  titled,  young  scapegraces.  The  code  originated 
by  these  impetuous  spirits  allows  no  affront  to  pass 
without  being  effaced  by  human  blood ;  they  seem  to 
thirst,  as  does  the  tiger  of  the  jungle,  for  its  taste.  A 
German  Whittier  should  sing  to  them  this  blessed 
sentiment : 

10 


202  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

11  O,  brother  man  I  fold  to  thy  heart  thy  brother  ; 
"Where  pity  dwells,  the  peace  of  God  is  there ; 
To  worship  rightly,  is  to  love  each  other, 

Each  smile  a  hymn,  each  kindly  deed  a  prayer." 

In  the  cellar  of  the  Castle  we  see  a  renowned 
curiosity  in  the  mammoth  tun,  thirty-six  feet  long  and 
twenty-four  feet  high.  Its  capacity  is  eight  hundred 
hogsheads.  There  are  steps  leading  to  the  top  of  it, 
on  which  is  a  platform  where  the  students  in  former 
times  were  wront,  on  certain  gala  occasions,  to  have  a 
dance.  Had  the  flooring  given  way,  they  might  have 
been  drowned  in  the  spirituous  liquor,  a  manner  of 
death  that  the  Duke  of  Clarence  preferred  to  any 
other.  Near  by  stands  the  grotesquely  painted  wooden 
image  of  the  court  jester,  who  wTas  made  notorious  by 
his  apparently  infinite  capacity  for  imbibing.  A  clock 
of  rude  construction  hangs  near  him,  with  a  string 
appended  to  it  which  the  unwrary  visitor  is  invited  to 
pull.  Should  he  comply,  a  large  bushy  tail  is  suddenly 
projected  into  his  face,  to  his  personal  chagrin  and  to 
the  malicious  amusement  of  the  spectators. 

FRANKFORT. 

Frankfort-on-the-Main  is  a  city  that  impresses  one 
with  its  respectability  and  solid  merit;  but,  unlike  many 
of  the  cities  to  which  this  description  might  apply,  it 
has  much  sweet  poetry  of  light  attraction  to  mingle  with 


FRANKFORT.  203 

the  prose  of  its  substantial  and  more  matter-of-fact  ad- 
vantages. The  city  is  not  as  popular  among  tourists  as 
many  others,  and  although  we  find  a  sojourn  of  several 
days  pleasantly  employed,  a  feiv  hours  would  make  us 
acquainted  with  its  leading  features.  It  is  eminently  a 
business  city ;  the  headquarters  of  money  and  banking 
interests ;  the  birthplace  of  the  first  of  the  Rothschilds, 
and  also  of  the  famous  banker  Bethmann.  We  are 
much  gratified  by  a  drive  through  the  old  part  of  the 
city,  our  attention  being  often  directed  to  the  venerable 
buildings,  with  their  quaint  gables  overshadowing  the 
lower  stories,  and  in  the  Jewish  quarter  of  the  city  to  the 
exceedingly  high  dwellings,  among  which  is  one  pointed 
out  as  the  house  in  which  Rothschild,  the  head  of  that 
famous  family,  was  born.  The  house,  like  others  of  its 
class,  is  swarming  with  life,  occupied  by  many  families. 
Grim,  dirty,  and  blackened  with  age,  it  bears  little  re- 
semblance to  the  many  stately  palaces  now  occupied  by 
the  descendants  of  the  great  financier  who  built  up  not 
only  a  personal  reputation,  but  a  family  name,  honorably 
represented  in  many  European  countries. 

There  is  another  house  so  associated  with  greatness 
— a  different  phase,  however — that  we  gladly  turn 
our  steps  towards  it.  Goethe  was  born  in  Frankfort, 
and  not  only  is  the  house  in  which  he  passed  his  pre- 
cocious childhood  to  be  seen,  but  the  room  is  pointed 
out  where  the  mother  bore  the  child  who,  almost  life- 


204  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

less,  was  with  difficulty  reanimated.  How  much  more 
earnest  would  have  been  the  efforts  of  the  midwife  and 
attendants  had  they  suspected  that  the  life  of  the  in- 
augurator  of  a  new  intellectual  experience  for  Germany 
— one  whose  birth  was  to  prove  an  epoch  in  the 
nation's  history — hung  in  the  balance !  How  little, 
too,  the  mother  dreamed  that  the  feeble  physical  life 
enshrined  a  mental  organization  of  such  power  and 
genius  as  had  never  before  dawned  upon  Germany;  who 
was  to  be  an  object  of  not  only  an  empire's  enthusiastic 
appreciation,  but  of  the  world's  admiring  regard,  and 
that  at  the  death  of  the  philosopher  poet  two  worlds 
would  mourn  him  !  How  much  to  be  regretted  that  the 
soul  of  a  man  upon  whose  utterances  the  world  waited, 
and  who  wielded  an  incalculable  influence  upon  the 
general  mind,  should  have  been  so  befogged  in  mysti- 
cism, failing  to  recognize  in  his  life  The  Hand  that 
guides  the  world,  and  in  the  problem  of  life  and  in  the 
enigma  of  death  the  germ  of  Christian  truth  and  faith ! 
The  room  in  which  the  eyes  of  the  wonderful  babe 
first  opened  is  small,  and  utterly  devoid  of  all  decora- 
tion. The  study  and  desk  are  shown  to  the  interested 
traveller,  and  in  one  of  the  chambers  familiar  to  his 
childhood  the  picture,  with  several  other  souvenirs,  of 
the  woman  whom  his  love  may  have  idealized,  but  who 
stands  out  brightly  in  the  light  of  her  home.  There 
she  presided,  taking  tender  care  of  young  brothers  and 


FRANKFORT.  205 

sisters  who  had  sustained,  with  her,  the  loss  of  a 
mother.  This  Charlotte  of  sweet  memory  was  neces- 
sarily shut  out  from  the  after-life  of  her  gifted  lover, 
because  of  an  engagement  to  another;  but  her  appreci- 
ative friendship  was  enjoyed  by  him,  and  he,  in  turn, 
by  making  his  love  for  her  one  of  the  inspiring  sub- 
jects of  his  famed  novel,  "  The  Sorrows  of  Werther," 
has  immortalized  her  name.  In  one  room  hangs  the 
picture  of  his  mother,  who  was  evidently  fair,  comely, 
and  sweetly  womanly.  We  stand  and  gaze  upon  her 
benignant  smile  and  shapely  features  with  deep  interest, 
as  we  ever  do  upon  the  living  form  or  pictured  face  of 
one  who  has  borne  a  genius  or  mothered  a  hero.  Who 
can  estimate  the  glorious  dignity  of  motherhood,  and 
the  exquisite  pleasure  of  claiming,  in  the  lovely  maiden- 
hood of  the  daughters  and  in  the  vigorous  manhood 
of  the  sons,  a  personal  right  so  close  that  none  but  a 
heavenly-ordained  power  could  bestow  it !  The  won- 
derful link  between  the  mother  and  child  is  of  sym- 
bolic gold,  so  beautiful  and  pure  that  it  could  be  of  no 
other  than  Heaven's  forging. 

The  house  once  occupied  by  Martin  Luther  is  also  to 
be  seen,  the  fact  memorialized  by  his  bust  placed  upon 
its  front.  Thus  is  the  memory  of  this  German  apostle, 
the  prodigious  champion  of  our  Christian  faith,  honored 
in  all  the  places  that  once  resounded  to  his  tread.  Alas 
that  in  his  own  native  land  the  echoes  of  those  victorious 


206  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

footsteps  should  now  be  so  faintly  heard,  and  that  a  gos- 
pel which  he  so  fearlessly  promulgated,  with  the  enthu- 
siastic zeal  of  a  soul  but  recently  rescued  from  the  bonds 
of  slavish  error,  should  be  so  feebly  supported,  and,  in- 
deed, in  its  sublime  purity  and  simplicity  almost  ignored ! 

The  banker,  Bethmann,  having  in  the  statue  Ariadne, 
by  Dannecker,  a  superb  treasure,  has  erected  for  it  a 
small  building  within  his  garden.  For  a  trifling  gra- 
tuity strangers  may  feast  upon  the  rare  graces  of  the 
sculptured  beauty.  A  curtain  is  withdrawn,  and  there 
we  see  the  life-sized  form  sitting  on  a  leopard.  It  seems 
to  us  the  personification  of  female  loveliness  and  a 
triumph  of  the  sculptor's  skill.  It  might  well  suggest 
to  the  modern  bachelor  a  feminine  ideal  of  not  only 
those  personal  charms  to  which  all  are  susceptible,  but 
of  the  mental  graces  which  seem  to  irradiate  even  these 
marble  features;  and  which,  united  with  the  former, 
"show  how  divine  a  thing  a  woman  may  be  made." 

Through  the  red  skylight  a  tempered  color  is  thrown 
upon  the  statue.  A  glow  tiuges  the  pale  cheek,  seems 
to  illumine  the  eyes,  and  to  give  a  flush  of  feeling  to 
the  figure,  apparently  instinct  with  the  shy,  modest, 
sweet  sentiment  of  a  living  soul.  We  gaze  and  won- 
der how  Theseus,  the  possessor  of  such  rare  beauty  as 
is  here  represented,  could  ever  have  turned  his  back 
upon  it,  and  sailed  away  to  encounter  all  the  desolating 
gloom  of  widowerhood. 


CHAPTEE    XIV. 

BADEN-BADEN— COLOGNE. 
BADEN-BADEN. 

Baden-Baden,  before  the  consolidation  of  the  Ger- 
man Empire,  was  the  rendezvous  of  all  gay  pleasure- 
seekers  in  Europe,  and  hot  only  of  that  class  of  reck- 
less adventurers  who  live  by  their  wits,  but  of  those 
who  found  the  novel  scene  it  exhibited  so  fascinating 
that  they  sought  it  for  amusement,  even  while  they 
refused  to  succumb  to  its  pernicious  allurements.  The 
gaming-tables,  which  were  the  "  cynosure  of  all  eyes," 
drew  multitudes,  who,  when  deprived  of  their  facilities 
or  of  their  spectacular  attraction,  failing  to  find  in  the 
natural  advantages  of  the  watering-place  and  in  its 
milder  forms  of  diversion  sufficient  enticement,  forsook 
the  once  favorite  haunt.  Germany,  although  over  its 
national  character  there  floats  a  scum  of  infidelity,  ob- 
serves great  decorum  in  its  legalized  amusements,  and 
when  Baden  Baden  came  under  its  control  it  was 
divested  and  purified  of  its  moral  cancer,  gambling. 
It  is  a  penetrating  disease,  absorbing  a  man's  whole 

207 


208  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

thought,  depriving  him  of  will-power,  and  so  corrupt- 
ing his  judgment  and  reason  that  his  entire  being  is 
infected  with  the  moral  poison.  We  honor  that  govern- 
ment which  will  reject  the  financial  advantages  accru- 
ing from  the  establishment  of  these  great  gambling 
centres,  encouraging  in  lieu  of  them  those  amusements 
which  are  not  prejudicial  to  the  growth  of  a  healthy 
moral  sentiment  in  the  community.  This  should  be 
the  policy  of  all  governments,  and,  even  if  selfishness 
lurks  at  its  roots,  it  will  still  bear  good  fruit. 

Baden-Baden  is  cosily  situated  in  the  valley  of  the 
Vos,  which  in  its  petty  trickling  scarce  deserves  the 
title  of  river.  The  town  encroaches  somewhat  upon 
the  slopes  of  the  bordering  hills,  pretty  gardens  smil- 
ing in  the  sunshine.  The  "  Neue  Trinkhalle"  is  the 
focus  of  attraction  at  the  usual  drinking-hour,  while 
the  somewhat  unsavory  waters  are  made  tolerable  by 
the  delightful  strains  of  a  good  band,  the  ear  being 
ministered  to  at  the  expense  of  the  palate.  This  hall 
is  a  colonnade,  richly  frescoed ;  contiguous  to  it  are  the 
Promenade  and  "  Conversationshaus."  The  latter  is 
a  commodious  building,  with  a  portico  in  Corinthian 
style.  It  contains  a  splendid  hall-room,  concert-rooms, 
restaurant,  and  reading-room.  The  saloons,  too,  wThose 
gaming-tables  once  drew  the  presence  of  the  world,  are 
still  dazzling  and  gorgeous  in  glittering  show,  but 
vacant  and  silent,  as  befits  the  burial-place  of  so  many 


BADEN-BADEN.  209 

hopes,  fortunes,  and  reputations.  Still,  there  are  many 
seductive  charms  to  delight  the  visitors  who  throng  the 
promenade  at  evening.  We  take  chairs,  and,  in  pay- 
ment, order  ices,  and  there  sit,  with  Heaven's  blue 
canopy  studded  with  stars  glittering  above  us ;  flowers 
nodding  drowsily,  the  evening  breeze  stirring  their 
slumbers  with  its  soft  breath,  the  atmosphere  dropping 
its  diamond  dew-drops  upon  their  drooping  petals ;  the 
music  of  choice  selection  and  delicious  in  melody,  touch- 
ing all  hearts ;  while  the  giddy  crowds  pass  and  repass, 
seeming  happy  in  light,  frivolous  talk.  A  Chinese 
pagoda  costing  ten  thousand  dollars,  near  the  Hall, 
accommodates  the  band,  which  is  worthy  of  so  costly  a 
pavilion.  We  leave  many  stray  francs  at  the  shops, 
which  are  replete  with  elegant  ornaments  and  knick- 
knacks,  forming,  as  they  do  at  all  such  resorts,  a  con- 
spicuous feature  and  an  irresistible  temptation. 

A  ride  follows,  of  some  miles,  in  itself  affording  keen 
pleasure,  through  "  lanes  and  valleys  green,  dingles  and 
bushy  dells,"  and  fine  old  woods.  We  are  at  length 
compelled  to  alight  and  climb  a  hill  to  reach  the  grand 
ruins  of  an  ancient  Schloss,  or  castle,  built  by  the 
Romans  many  centuries  ago, — how  many  no  one  can 
tell.  It  is  an  enormous,  rambling  structure,  its  towers 
rising  higher  than  we  dare  to  ascend,  lower  positions 
affording  a  view  sufficiently  extensive,  rich,  and  varied. 
Far  away,  the  hills  of  the  Black  Forest  are  discernible ; 

10* 


210  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

then  the  spreading  plain,  threaded  by  the  faintly-  traced 
Rhine;  while  nearer  lies  the  sweet  valley  of  the  hospita- 
ble little  town  of  Baden-Baden,  with  its  pretty  cluster- 
ing homes  and  modest  little  river.  The  grandeur  of 
the  ruins  is  in  no  way  diminished,  but  made  perfect  by 
the  union  of  pretty,  clinging  vines,  which  in  their 
dense,  wild  luxuriance  seem  to  revel  in  their  freedom, 
clambering  with  riotous  growth  over  lofty  towers,  send- 
ing down  graceful  festoons,  which  shade  the  walls  and 
toy  with  every  passing  breeze. 

But  we  must  leave  this  venerable  monument  of  past 
ages,  with  its  clinging,  bride-like  vines,  to  visit  the  scene 
of  the  singular  private  drama  of  a  life  whose  shame- 
less record  is  perpetuated  in  many  visible  objects. 

We  catch  a  glimpse  through  a  broad  fine  vista  of  an 
elegant  chateau.  It  is  very  prettily  situated,  half  encir- 
cled by  woods,  with  pleasant  lawns  stretching  before  it ; 
but  its  interior  is  unusually  inviting  and  opens  up  to 
us  new  forms  of  gay,  brilliant,  and  unique  ornamenta- 
tion. The  palace  was  built  and  furnished  by  the  Mar- 
gravine Sybilla,  a  woman  of  luxurious  and  perhaps 
somewhat  gaudy  taste,  and  of  life  most  unchristian;  a 
voluptuary  of  wide-spread  fame,  and  of  such  beauty 
as  delighted  to  repeat  itself.  In  an  apartment  called 
the  mirror  room  we  find  the  walls  and  ceiling  formed 
Oof  small  mirrors  so  ingeniously  arranged  that  there  is 
but  one  place  in  which  one  fails  to  see  his  reflection. 


BA  DEN-BADEN.  211 

In  another  room  are  seventy  pictures  of  herself  in  every 
possible  guise  and  attitude.  In  still  another  apartment 
the  walls  are  literally  covered  with  portraits  of  men  of 
her  time, — perhaps  the  art-gallery  picturing  her  disso- 
lute life.  Tiie  grand  bedchamber  is  hung  in  richest 
tapestry  wrought  by  herself  and  her  ladies.  The  walls 
of  one  room  are  lined  with  pictured  porcelain,  a  singu- 
lar and  very  costly  finish.  It  would  be  impossible  to 
enumerate  the  vast  number  of  ornaments  scattered  with 
regal  profusion  through  the  beautiful  suite  of  apart- 
ments. The  life,  gay,  frivolous,  unwomanly,  and  im- 
pure, that  once  animated  these  places  has  long  since  fled ; 
although  it  seems,  in  penetrating  the  private  apart- 
ments full  of  the  familiar  objects  of  domestic  life,  that 
we  might  encounter  at  any  moment  the  unfortunate 
spirit  that  once  brightened  these  rooms,  so  invested  do 
they  seem  with  the  immediate  presence  of  their  noto- 
rious mistress.  As  we  emerge  from  the  pleasant  man- 
sion, we  hear  the  wind  as  it  sweeps  through  the  leafy 
branches  of  the  lofty  trees  that  surround  it,  sounding  to 
our  imagination,  which  has  become  captive  to  the  spell 
that  by  this  time  is  woven  around  us,  like  a  dirge 
moaning  over  a  sad  and  wasted  life.  Within  the 
grounds  is  a  small  round  chapel,  called  the  "  Hermit- 
age," where  the  rich,  beautiful,  and  sinful  woman  was 
in  the  habit  of  spending  in  strict  seclusion,  and  in  a 
superficially  penitential  mood,  the  forty  days  of  Lent. 


212  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

Each  year  at  that  season  would  she  lay  aside  her  gorgeous 
apparel  and  the  unhallowed  practices  of  her  life,  and, 
assuming  a  dress  of  coarsest  serge,  would  enter  the  little 
chapel  to  remain  alone  with  her  offended  Maker.  The 
days  and  nights  were  devoted  to  expiatory  penances, 
such  as  self-scourging,  wearing  an  iron  shirt,  and  in 
seeking  repose  only  upon  a  rope  mat,  eschewing  every 
luxury  and  the  attendance  that  belonged  to  her  rank ; 
condescending  to  the  performance  of  the  most  menial 
offices;  returning  at  the  expiration  of  the  season  to 
the  sinful  follies  of  her  previous  life. 

We  enter  the  tiny  building  with  eager  curiosity.  It 
is  divided  into  several  very  small  apartments, — one,  an 
oratory,  where  is  a  life-sized  waxen  figure  of  our  Lord 
stretched  out  beneath  the  rude  shrine  at  which  she  per- 
formed her  devotions.  On  the  wall  hangs  a  scourge, 
and  a  shirt  of  rough,  prickly  iron  which  she  wore  next 
her  person.  In  the  next  room  is  a  small  wooden  table 
where  she  ate,  waxen  figures  representing  the  Virgin 
Mary  and  the  Saviour  seated  at  the  opposite  side.  In 
the  adjoining  room  is  the  coarse  woven  mat  on  which 
she  slept ;  a  repulsive  human  skull  is  suspended  near, 
which  it  was  her  duty  to  contemplate.  Next  to  her 
dormitory  was  the  kitchen  where  she  prepared  her 
scanty  meals.  The  floors  of  the  "  Hermitage"  are  of 
rough  pine,  and  all  the  appointments  such  as  we  asso- 
ciate with  abject  poverty. 


BA  DEN-BADEN.  213 

The  little  building  in  which  we  stand  is  full  of  sug- 
gestion, and  fires  a  new  train  of  thought.  As  we 
contemplate  this  Magdalen's  character,  we  think  of 
the  stigma  which  justly  falls  upon  an  unhallowed  life, 
and  of  the  unequal  view  which  the  world  takes  of  lax 
morality  in  the  sexes.  Why  is  it,  we  ask  ourselves, 
that  man  should  be  allowed  to  sow  his  "wild  oats/7 
while  woman  is  expected  to  sow  wheat  f  Why 
should  a  man  demand  of  the  woman  he  marries  an  un- 
spotted maidenhood  and  an  unblemished  life,  while  his 
past  has  been  tarnished  by  sin  ?  Why  require  that 
her  vestal  fires  should  have  burned  purely,  while  in  his 
heart  are  the  ashes  of  unholy  passions?  Why  the  dif- 
ference? Will  Heaven  require  of  the  weaker  sex  a 
higher  degree  of  moral  excellence  than  of  the  stronger? 
Should  condemnation  fall  more  heavily  upon  the 
tempted  than  upon  the  tempter  ?  One  of  Solon's  laws 
decreed  that  that  man  should  be  declared  infamous  who 
condoned  his  wife's  infidelity.  Right  so  far;  but  why 
not  frame  a  twin  law  that  the  wife  should  be  declared 
infamous  who  tolerated  her  husband's  unfaithfulness, 
or  the  maiden  who  ignored  her  lover's  derelictions? 
But  so  it  has  ever  been  ;  public  opinion  heaping  male- 
dictions upon  the  female  culprit,  while  winking  at  the 
unsanctified  habits  of  man.  So  has  the  world  wagged 
since  the  days  of  Abraham,  when  poor  Sarah  compelled 
the  dismissal  of  Ha  gar. 


2J4  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

Woman  is  essentially  superior  in  her  moral  nature  to 
man :  her  religious  tendencies  are  more  marked :  her 
instincts  nobler,  purer;  her  moral  perceptions  more 
delicate  and  acute.  While  we  cannot  affirm  that  her 
feelings  and  affections  are  more  profound,  yet  we  do 
believe  them  to  be  more  delicate  and  chaste.  When 
we  realize  that  her  power  underlies  the  whole  social 
economy,  that  through  it  the  passions  of  men  are 
swayed,  their  emotions  moved,  their  tastes  biassed, 
and  often  their  prejudices  excited,  we  recognize  the 
providential  aspects  of  the  case.  What  man  can  deny 
the  overwhelming  influence  of  woman  in  the  social  as 
well  as  domestic  sphere?  What  one  man  is  there 
whose  life  has  not  been  more  or  less .  affected,  often 
even  directed,  through  a  woman's  influence? — a  sub- 
tilely  working  power,  but  the  more  pervading  for  that. 
Indeed,  we  believe  that  every  woman  is  more  or  less 
responsible  not  only  for  the  earthly  career,  but  for  the 
eternal  destiny,  of  some  one  man  at  least ! 

Woman  should  be  man's  guiding  star,  pointing  to 
heaven  and  leading  the  way.  Through  the  influence 
of  her  refined,  cultivated  society  are  developed  the 
latent  virtues,  and  perchance  nobility,  slumbering  in 
his  nature,  just  as  the  sun's  rays  woo  the  budded 
flower  to  unfold  its  hidden  beauty.  The  influence 
and  love  of  a  good  woman — alas  that  there  are 
any  other! — may  be  the  means,  like   Jacob's  ladder, 


COLOGNE.  215 

through  which  man  may  be  won  into  communion  with 
heaven,  whose  purity  and  truth  should  be  typified  in 
the  female  character. 

We  would  not  magnify  our  sex  to  the  disparage- 
ment of  the  other,  for  we  honor  man.  Our  Saviour, 
in  assuming  man's  form,  dignified  manhood  and 
crowned  it  with  majesty.  What  in  the  moral  world 
is  more  grand  than  a  rich,  heroic  manhood,  around 
which  cluster  all  those  noble  attributes  which  go  to 
make  up  the  ideal  masculine  character !  Like  a 
rock  he  stands,  immovable,  strong,  grand;  and  yet 
the  clear,  purling  stream,  which  flows  often  at  its  side, 
by  its  gentle  influence,  woman-like,  gradually  wears 
into  smoothness  its  rough  points.  Firm  in  principle, 
true  to  instincts,  and  faithful  to  all  trusts,  the  highest 
type  of  man  stands, 

"  A  combination  and  a  form  indeed, 
"Where  every  god  does  seem  to  set  his  seal 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man !" 

COLOGNE. 

Aside  from  the  cathedral  there  is  comparatively 
little  of  note  in  the  old  city  of  Cologne  to  entertain 
the  traveller.  Its  streets  are  simply  noticeable  because 
they  are  those  of  a  foreign  city ;  a  city  once  famed  for 
its  great  commercial  importance.     Besides  the  cathedral 


216  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

there    are    several    churches    which    secure    at   least 
passing  attention. 

Entering  the  church  of  "  St.  Ursula,"  a  dreary  and 
singular  sight  greets  one,  the  walls  being  lined  with 
shelves,  on  which  are  deposited  a  vast  collection  of 
bones,  their  presence  explained  through  the  following 
legend.  St.  Ursula,  the  daughter  of  a  British  king, 
accompanied  by  eleven  thousand  virgins,  made  a  suc- 
cessful pilgrimage  to  Rome  in  the  year  453,  but  on 
their  way  back  they  were  attacked  and  massacred  at 
Cologne  by  the  Huns,  while  in  defence  of  their  maiden 
vows.  Their  bones  were  subsequently  collected,  and 
have  been  for  many  hundred  years  exposed  to  view  in 
different  portions  of  the  church  which  is  dedicated  to 
the  memory  of  their  heroic  death.  The  sight  of  these 
dried  human  relics  is  repulsive  and  disagreeably  sug- 
gestive ;  and  yet  we  would  not  rob  the  sweet  innocents 
of  the  reward  which  is  thought  to  be  bestowed  upon 
their  virtuous  memory,  for 

"  Dear  to  heaven  is  saintly  chastity." 

In  another  church  may  be  seen,  by  payment  of  a 
gratuity,  Rubens's  "  Crucifixion  of  St.  Peter,"  painted 
a  short  time  before  the  artist's  death.  It  is  a  marvel- 
lous conception  of  human  suffering,  and  its  perfection 
of  form,  we  think,  evinces  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
anatomy.     We  are  aware  that,  by  some,  incorrectness 


COLOGNE.  217 

in  this  particular  is  attributed  to  Rubens ;  yet  the 
defect  was  perhaps  manifest  only  in  his  female  figures. 
The  brilliancy  of  coloring  which  characterizes  all  his 
efforts  is,  in  this  picture,  observable,  although  dis- 
tributed with  so  much  judgment  and  taste  as  to  be 
effective  and  not  obtrusive.  We  think  we  never 
looked  upon  a  more  powerful  representation  of  human 
agony  than  this,  and  we  wonder  if  the  myth-like  story 
told  of  Guido  Reni's  painting  of  the  "  Crucifixion" 
might  not  apply  to  this  almost  inspired  effort.  To 
paint  a  face  with  ordinary  expression — in  repose — re- 
quires a  hand  of  cunning  skill.  But  to  portray  in 
every  lineament  anguish  unspeakable,  such  anguish  as 
distorts  every  line  of  the  face ;  the  smooth  curves  ruf- 
fled into  deep  furrows ;  the  veins  swollen  and  knotted  ; 
the  eyes  protruding  and  glassy  ;  the  mouth  drawn  and 
tense ;  every  vein  swelling  with  rushing  blood-cur- 
rents; the  limbs  of  the  body,  too,  corresponding  to 
the  face  in  signs  of  mortal  agony ; — to  accomplish  all 
this ;  to  make  every  feature,  muscle,  and  limb  elo- 
quent with  the  suffering  of  martyrdom  in  its  culmi- 
nation of  torture,  must,  in  the  absence  of  a  model, 
require  a  genius  of  whose  vast,  almost  supernatural 
power  those  who  are  destitute  of  artistic  talent  can 
have  no  idea.  The  artist's  imagination  must  have 
been  of  abnormal  development ;  the  mental  concep- 
tion of  almost  inspired  birth. 


218  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

Tradition,  seldom  reliable,  has  it,  that  Guido  Reni 
became  so  frenzied  with  zeal,  so  completely  imbued 
with  the  spirit  of  his  subject,  that,  catching  up  a 
stiletto,  he  plunged  it  into  the  body  of  his  living 
model,  that  he  might  more  faithfully  depict  the  ex- 
pression of  dying  agony  upon  his  picture  of  the 
Saviour's  face. 

But  to  return  to  Rubens's  picture  of  "  St.  Peter's 
Crucifixion."  The  martyr,  by  request,  is  undergoing 
the  frightful  suffering  with  head  downward,  refusing 
to  be  honored  with  the  position  in  which  his  beloved 
Master  had  been  crucified.  Noble,  magnanimous, 
loving  soul,  how  thoroughly  did  he  expiate  the  crimi- 
nal weakness  of  the  denial  of  his  Lord  !  With  what 
deep,  untiring,  uninterrupted  devotion  did  he  seek  ever 
after  to  atone  for  his  temporary  disloyalty  !  How  gen- 
erous his  atonement,  how  warm  his  love,  and  how  sin- 
cere his  sacrificing  worship  of  Him  who  had  forgiven 
and  who  ever  loved  the  impetuous  disciple,  was  proven 
by  his  subsequent  experience,  and  by  the  final  surren- 
der of  life  itself,  under  circumstances  of  voluntary 
aggravation  of  martyrdom.  The  picture  —  whose 
figures  are  life-size — is  so  striking,  so  impressive  in 
its  delineating  power,  that  we  think  a  quiet  contem- 
plation of  it  would  stimulate  to  warmer  zeal  all  luke- 
warm followers  of  the  blessed  Saviour,  who  forgives 
like  a  God,  and  who  bestows  a  victor's  crown  upon 


COLOGNE.  219 

him  who,  conquering  finally,  through  much  tribula- 
tion, enters  the  Heavenly  City  at  last! 

While  driving  through  Cologne,  we  are  amazed 
to  see  in  an  upper  window  of  a  large,  fine  house 
the  heads  of  two  white  wooden  horses.  What  can  it 
mean?  We  must  inquire,  we  say,  and,  on  doing  so, 
are  entertained,  by  way  of  explanation,  with  the  fol- 
lowing legend.  During  the  year  1440,  when  a  terri- 
ble pestilence  swept  over  Germany,  the  wife  of  Sir 
Aducht  fell  sick  of  the  distemper,  and,  dying,  was 
hastily  entombed.  The  cupidity  of  the  sexton  was 
fully  aroused  on  seeing  the  costly  jewels  which  orna- 
mented the  hands  of  the  deceased,  and  he  determined 
to  divest  her  of  such  superfluous  decoration.  Upon 
visiting  her  tomb  that  night  and  breaking  open  her 
coffin,  he  was  terrified  to  see  her  turn  and  hear  her 
faintly  sigh.  Superstitious  fear  taking  possession  of 
him,  he  fled  without  accomplishing  his  purpose. 

The  lady,  slowly  recovering  full  consciousness,  and 
realizing  the  horrors  of  her  situation,  called  for  help ; 
but,  no  one  hearing  her,  she  stepped  from  her  coffin, 
and  with  faltering  steps  sought  her  home. 

It  was  at  a  late  hour  when  she  reached  the  house  of 
her  sorrowing  husband,  who,  disturbed  by  the  persist- 
ent knocking  at  the  door,  opened  the  window  and  de- 
manded the  business  of  the  intruder. 

"It  is  your  wife,  Richmondis,  whom  you  buried  as 


220  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

dead.  Oh,  come  quickly,  dear  husband,  for  I  am 
overcome  with  fear  and  cold." 

"  You  are  a  villain  to  attempt  such  a  joke  with  an 
afflicted  widower." 

"  No,  no ;  I  am  your  own  living  wife." 

"  That  is  as  impossible  as  for  my  horses  to  ascend 
the  stairs." 

At  that  moment  the  heavy  tread  of  horses'  feet  was 
heard  on  the  stairs,  and  looking  down  he  saw  their  two 
white  heads  projecting  from  one  of  the  windows,  as  they 
gazed  into  the  street. 

Trembling  with  fear,  he  descended,  and,  opening  the 
door,  received  into  his  arms  the  exhausted  form  of  his 
beloved  wife. 

Both  survived  this  wonderful  event  many  happy 
years,  and,  to  commemorate  it,  Sir  Aducht  ordered 
two  wooden  horses  to  be  placed  at  the  window,  where 
they  remain  to  this  day. 

The  cathedral  at  Cologne  is  one  of  the  architectural 
wonders  of  the  world,  and,  as  we  stand  and  gaze  at  the 
elaborate  intricacies  of  its  Gothic  ornamentation,  we 
are  thrilled  with  a  renewed  appreciation  of  the  human 
genius  that  was  capable  of  such  a  stupendous  achieve- 
ment. When  we  realize  that  to  the  mind  of  the  archi- 
tect must  have  been  revealed  a  vision  of  just  such  a 
magnificent  creation  as  this,  before  it  could  have  been 
reduced  to  a  definite  plan ;  that  every  tower,  buttress, 


COLOGNE.  221 

and  pinnacle  had  been  erected  in  the  mind's  eye ;  that 
the  whole  temple,  with  its  numberless  appointments 
and  decorations,  was  reared  in  the  vast  realm  of  man's 
imagination,  before  it  assumed  its  present  tangible  form ; 
we  are  dumb  with  amazement  at  the  palpable  proof 
given  of  the  marvellous  capacity  of  man,  who  surely 
"is  but  a  little  lower  than  the  angels."  We  rejoice 
that  this  vast  and  mighty  effort  of  human  genius 
should  be  so  appropriately  made  a  tribute  to  Him  who 
is  the  architect  of  worlds  ! 

Within,  the  choir  first  arrests  the  eye.  How  high, 
how  majestic  !  How  artistic  the  disposition  of  columns, 
statues,  and  chapels  !  How  exquisite  the  painted  win- 
dows !  always  a  bright  medium  through  which  our 
thoughts  are  turned  heavenward.  For  not  only  are 
their  subjects  of  Scriptural  meaning  elevating  in 
theme,  but  we,  who  find  something  sublime  in  color, 
love  to  look  through  it  up  to  the  Divine  Artist,  who 
has  given  expression  to  his  love  for  his  earthly  crea- 
tures by  painting  for  their  delight  the  sky  in  sweet 
color,  the  grass  in  reviving  green,  and  the  flowers  of 
the  field  in  every  hue  and  tint  to  please  the  eye  of 
man. 

As  we  enter  the  cathedral  one  day,  our  ear  catching 
the  sweet  notes  of  music,  the  words  of  Goethe  flash 
upon  our  memory, — "  Architecture  is  petrified  music. 
The  tone  of  the  mind  produced  by  architecture  ap- 


222  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

proaches  the  effect  of  music."  We  look  around  us. 
Have  the  numberless  graceful  pillars,  the  fine  old 
carved  stalls,  and  all  the  delicate  fretwork  warmed  into 
life?  and  are  they  singing  the  beauty  which  has  hith- 
erto mutely  appealed  to  us?  and  when  rich  organ- 
sounds  suddenly  swell  the  melody,  filling  the  grand 
old  temple,  we  lift  our  eyes  to  the  wonderful  dome, 
to  see  if  it,  too,  has  become  endowed  with  musical 
expression. 

While  wandering  through  the  "fretted  aisles"  and 
splendid  naves  of  these  old  churches  and  majestic  ca- 
thedrals, we  feel  a  thrill  of  gratitude  for  the  wise  pro- 
vision made  for  devotees  and  for  tourists,  who  so  gladly 
seek  these  sacred  places, — the  one  for  a  whispered 
prayer,  beaded  paternoster,  or  for  solemn  meditation, 
the  other  for  delicious  revery  amid  the  wondrous 
beauty  of  pictured  walls,  frescoed  ceilings,  painted  win- 
dows, and  the  lofty,  statuesque,  and  grand  in  architec- 
ture. Is  not  beauty  an  accessory  to  worship?  is  it  not 
a  true  and  beautiful  medium,  by  which  our  thought  is 
borne  heavenward  to  that  Divine  Essence  of  all  beauty 
which  fills  the  eternal  spheres?  What  more  appro- 
priate place  to  seek  the  Divine  benison ;  to  meditate 
upon  holy  things ;  to  renew  covenant  vows ;  to  seek  a 
blessing  on  some  new  plan ;  to  offer  our  children  anew 
upon  the  altar  of  God's  love  and  mercy ;  and  to  recon- 
secrate our  future  lives  to  His  service,  than  a  church  ? 


COLOGNE.  223 

Why  should  our  churches  be  closed  during  the  week  ? 
Would  we  not  tread  the  solitary  aisles  and  seek  the 
vacant  pew  with  different  emotions  on  the  weekday, 
from  those  we  feel  on  the  Sabbath  when  surrounded  by 
a  bustling  throng  of  worshippers  ? 

Silence  conduces  to  devotional  feeling;  a  solemn 
gloom  enshrouds  the  holy  place ;  we  feel  alone  with  our 
conscience  and  our  Maker.  Who  can  tell  what  sancti- 
fying influences,  won  through  such  peaceful  communion 
within  the  hallowed  Avails,  may  go  with  us  as  we  return 
to  the  outside  world  refreshed  and  strengthened  in  the 
inner  man  ? 

Then  let  us  never  dose  the  doors  of  our  churches,  thus 
inviting  to  a  silent  altar,  within  walls  dedicated  to  the 
Hearer  of  prayer,  the  worn  and  wearied  soul,  him  who, 
weak  in  faith,  would  rally  his  spiritual  forces,  and  those 
who,  suffering  in  mind,  seek  relief  at  the  foot  of  the 
cross,  amid  the  hallowed  quiet  of  the  sanctuary.  No, 
never  close  the  churches,  when  even  to  the  careless  vis- 
itor their  sacred  associations  suggest  holy  themes,  and 
that  worship  which  should  fill  the  soul, — the  truest 
Temple  of  God. 

"  Are  there  no  sinners  in  the  churchless  week 
"Who  wish  to  sanctify  a  vowed  repentance  ? 
Are  there  no  hearts  "bereft,  which  fain  would  seek 
The  only  balm  for  death's  unpitying  sentence  ? 
"Why  are  they  shut? 


224  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

11  Are  there  no  poor,  no  wronged,  no  heirs  of  grief, 

No  sick  who,  when  their  strength  or  courage  falters, 
Long  for  a  moment's  respite  or  relief, 

By  kneeling  at  the  God  of  mercy's  altars  ? 
"Why  are  they  shut  ? 

11  If  there  be  one — one  only — who  might  share 
This  sanctifying  weekday  adoration, 
Were  but  our  churches  open  to  his  prayer, 
Why, — I  demand  with  earnest  iteration, — 
Why  are  they  shut?" 


CHAPTEK    XV. 

LONDON— SPUKGEON— HAMPTON  COURT. 

LONDON. 

The  compartment  of  the  first-class  car  in  which  we 
travel  to  London,  capable  of  accommodating  eight  per- 
sons, is  delightfully  spacious  and  comfortable,  and  if 
by  chance  no  stranger  is  introduced  to  it,  a  company  of 
friends  may  enjoy  themselves  in  unrestrained  converse, 
or  a  husband  and  wife  be  treated  to  a  domestic  Ute-d,- 
Ute.  At  intervals  in  the  winter  season  the  guard  places 
a  long  tin,  filled  with  hot  water,  under  the  feet,  this 
being  the  only  means  of  conveying  heat,  proving  suffi- 
cient for  the  climate. 

Arrived  at  London  and  established  at  our  hotel,  we 

hasten   to   look   about   us,  and   are  not    disappointed 

to  find  our  eyes  resting  upon  the  building  which  is 

of  absorbing  interest  to  all  lovers  of  the  ancient,  the 

historic,  and  the  sacred, — Westminster  Abbey.     Here 

history  finds  illustration  in  the  presence  of  those  who 

made  it;   here  art  seeks  its  noblest  representation  in 

those  works  of  genius  which,  as   monuments  to  the 

11  225 


226  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

great  dead,  line  the  walls  and  fill  the  niches ;  here  sci- 
ence, philosophy,  prose,  and  poetry  receive  admiring 
recognition  through  the  marvellous  tributes  of  the 
sculptor  to  their  interpreters  and  exponents ;  here  the 
renowned  military  hero  is  made  through  defiant  mien 
and  uplifted  sword,  to  "fight  his  battles  o'er  again." 
The  "  sacred  preacher"  is  presented  to  us  in  his  clerical 
robes ;  Shakspeare,  the  king  of  the  drama,  is  "winding 
the  clock  of  his  wit,"  as  he  stands  before  us  in  thought- 
ful attitude.  Milton,  who  by  his  inspired  imagination 
has  opened  Paradise  to  our  delighted  vision,  is,  through 
his  blind  eyes,  seeming  to  pierce  heavenly  mysteries. 
Chaucer,  the  ancient  "  father"  of  the  art  we  love,  lies 
in  effigy  before  us.  Addison,  whose  liquid  prose  will 
ever  continue  to  fascinate  the  cultivated  mind ;  Macau- 
lay,  whose  rich  and  massive  style  amply  rewards  the 
reader ;  and  Scott,  through  whose  weird,  ingenious, 
and  unequalled  fancy  we  tread  baronial  halls,  consort 
with  kings  and  queens,  are  made  to  join  in  the  rev- 
elries and  mingle  in  the  battles  of  bygone  ages,  are 
all,  with  many  others,  introduced  to  us  in  sculptured 
forms. 

"A  dim  religious  light,"  appropriate  to  such  a  hal- 
lowed sanctuary,  pervades  the  gloomy  aisles  and  chapels, 
and  one  feels  almost  oppressed,  as  if  with  the  burdened 
memories  of  the  great  past,  whose  mighty  ghosts  seem 
stalking  by  our  side;   and  with  the  richness  of  the 


LONDON.  227 

present  age,  whose  heroes  of  political  and  military  re- 
nown and  its  giants  in  intellect  slumber  by  the  side  of 
the  illustrious  of  early  times. 

In  one  of  the  chapels,  called  The  Confessor's,  are  the 
chairs  used  for  the  coronation  of  English  sovereigns,  in . 
one  of  which  is  enclosed  the  famous  stone  of  Scone,  the 
coronation-seat  of  the  kings  of  Scotland,  brought  to 
England  by  Edward  I.  in  the  year  1296. 

Westminster  Abbey  is  built  in  the  form  of  a  cross, 
and  is  the  more  interesting  as  it  cannot  be  said  to  be  of 
any  one  style  of  architecture,  presenting  specimens  of 
many  forms,  from  the  Anglo-Saxon  to  Early  Renais- 
sance. "A  Gothic  church,"  Victor  Hugo  declares  to 
be  "  a  sublime  book"  ;  but  what  could  be  more  worthy 
of  the  comparison  than  this  venerable  shrine  ? — a  vol- 
ume to  be  read,  studied,  pondered,  and  re-read  again 
and  again.  One  feels,  in  wandering  through  the  aisles 
whose  vault  is  so  lofty  and  of  such  marvellous  execu- 
tion, and  between  columns  that  cluster  like  massive 
trees  in  a  forest,  that  the  architectural  art  has  here  at- 
tained its  triumph,  and  that  'tis  fitting  that  pilgrims 
should  come  from  distant  lands  to  marvel  at  its  intri- 
cacies and  to  acknowledge  its  successes. 

London,  the  largest  city  in  the  world,  presents  a  sin- 
gular conglomeration,  in  its  architecture,  of  the  anti- 
quated and  modern.  The  English,  unlike  the  French, 
take  great  pleasure  in  retaining  their  old  buildings; 


228  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

doing  little  to  remodel  them.  Immensely  tall,  ungrace- 
ful edifices,  covered  with  the  must  of  ages,  frown  down 
upon  us  everywhere.  Time  and  the  atmosphere — so 
damp  and  foggy — seem  to  vie  with  each  other  in  pro- 
ducing a  dark,  blackened  appearance  upon  brick  and 
mortar,  which  gives  the  city  a  sombre  aspect ;  indeed, 
London  requires  the  most  unmitigated  sunlight  to 
brighten  it,  and  would  absorb  much  more  than  nature 
often  affords  it.  Brick  is  seldom  painted  here,  because 
the  prevailing  humidity  soon  obliterates  all  colors — but 
black. 

Let  the  Englishman  sit  down  in  his  pride  and  enjoy 
the  appearance  of  antiquity  which  the  crumbling  tiled 
houses,  with  their  moss-covered  and  grimmed  surfaces, 
give  his  famous  city;  we  of  America  will  have  the 
nobler  satisfaction  of  seeing  in  freshly-hewn  marble,  in 
granite,  and  in  iron,  the  hand  of  progress  traced  in  all 
our  cities.  But  while  we  give  America  the  preference 
in  this  respect,  we  would  that  we  might  imitate  the  ex- 
ample which  the  English  set  us  in  the  profound  rever- 
ence and  homage  they  pay  to  their  buried  heroes.  Not 
a  park,  square, — in  which  London  abounds, — or  public 
edifice,  but  contains  the  carved  or  mounted  effigy  of 
their  great  dead.  Why  should  not  we,  triumphant 
America,  pay  such  honor  to  our  great  generals,  intel- 
lectual giants,  and  political  leaders?  why  should  not 
Washington,    Jefferson,    Adams,    Clay,  Webster,  and 


LONDON.  229 

others,  who  reflected  by  the  light  of  their  great  in- 
tellects and  by  their  patriotic  services  glory  upon  our 
country,  be  thus  remembered  in  all  our  larger  cities  ? 
And  on  enduring  brass,  or  in  marble  pure  and  un- 
spotted as  his  fame,  let  the  grand  record  of  the  country's 
latest  idol  and  martyred  President  be  written  in  letters 
of  gold,  that  the  youth  of  future  generations  may  pause 
to  read  and  admire  the  story  of  a  man  great  in  his  good- 
ness, wise  in  his  simplicity,  honest  in  his  convictions, 
and  resolute  in  his  will.  All  hail  to  the  memory  of 
our  martyred  dead ! 

One  is  often  tempted  to  criticise  the  physical  Eng- 
lishman as  seen  on  the  promenade,  and  wonder  that  he 
is  so  heavy  and  ungraceful  in  his  build,  so  unlike  in 
appearance  his  more  attractive  neighbor,  the  French- 
man, who  is  lithe,  easy,  and  elegant  in  person  and 
movement.  The  English  in  their  human  structure 
exhibit  the  solidity  and  compactness  which  are  charac- 
teristic also  of  the  style  of  their  architecture,  and  to 
view  them  generally,  one  would  imagine  all  ideality  to 
be  buried  in  a  hallowed  corner — the  poets' — in  that 
revered  old  pile,  Westminster  Abbey. 

We  have  always  thought  of  Spurgeon  and  Beecher 
as  being  the  representative  preachers  of  the  orthodox 
faith  in  England  and  America,  and  were  naturally 
desirous  of  seeing  and  hearing  the  English  clerical 
orator,  having  often  been  the  amused,  if  not  benefited, 


230  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

listener  of  the  American  apostle.  We  say  amused,  for 
ofttimes  we  have  seen  the  serenity  of  a  vast  congrega- 
tion disturbed  by  a  ripple  of  mirth  which  threatened  to 
culminate  in  a  wave  of  laughter,  under  the  influence  of 
the  grotesque  contortions  of  Beecher's  singularly  mobile 
features,  and  of  a  humor  so  genuine  as  to  prove  irre- 
sistible. 

One  beautiful  Sabbath  morning  we  attempt  to  find 
"  The  Tabernacle,"  as  Spurgeon's  church  is  called. 
It  is  situated  in  Surrey  District,  quite  removed  from 
the  heart  of  London.  Arrived  at  our  destination,  we 
find  ourselves  at  the  doors  of  a  very  plain,  but  im- 
mense, building,  which,  large  as  it  is,  accommodates 
with  difficulty  the  crowds  who  flock  to  hear  the  great 
preacher. 

Entering,  we  see  that  the  interior  is  as  conspicuously 
plain  as  the  exterior,  with  capacity  for  seating  four 
thousand  four  hundred  persons.  The  pulpit  is  simply 
a  very  elevated  platform,  on  which  are  placed  a  table 
and  a  chair.  With  almost  incredible  rapidity  the 
church  becomes  packed,  taxing  to  the  utmost  the  efforts 
of  the  courteous  ushers.  Turning  to  one  of  them,  we 
ask  if  the  crowd  is  always  as  large.  "  Oh,  yes,"  is  the 
answer ;  "  although  I  have  rented  a  pew  here  for  many 
years,  I  never  find  a  place  in  it  to  sit,  unless  our  pastor 
is  absent."  u  You  experience  the  inconvenience,"  we 
say,  "  of  having  one  of  the  most  popular  preachers  of 


LONDON.  231 

the  day,  a  man  whose  reputation  is  as  well  established 
in  our  country,  over  the  sea,  as  here."  He  seems 
pleased  with  the  assurance,  and  makes  many  inquiries 
about  Beecher,  as  if  associating  the  two  men,  as  the 
world  seems  involuntarily  to  do. 

Seated  in  a  front  pew  of  the  gallery,  we  can  com- 
mand a  fine  view  of  the  entire  congregation.  It  pre- 
sents an  interesting  study ;  a  large  number  are  strangers 
from  our  own  land,  brought  together  by  a  common 
desire  to  see  and  hear  the  man  who  "  sits  high  in  the 
opinion"  of  the  Christian  world,  whose  talents  and 
powers,  whatever  they  may  be,  are  never  supplemented 
by  any  oratorical  trickery  or  flourish,  no  trace  of  the 
clap-trap  sensationalism,  of  which  we  believe  Beecher 
also  to  be  innocent,  but  through  which  a  pulpit,  near 
his  own,  is  so  shamelessly  notorious. 

What  a  sea  of  faces!  Could  any  man  stand  before 
such  an  immense  audience  and  not  feel  intellectual  fire 
kindle  within  him,  its  sparks  lighting  up  a  sympathetic 
enthusiasm  in  the  hearers  as  well  ?  Must  not  an  orator 
be  stimulated  to  a  species  of  inspiration  as  he  looks 
down  upon  a  waiting  multitude?  And  if  "the  root 
of  the  matter"  is  in  him,  does  not  the  glow  of  spiritual 
life  within  take  on  new  warmth,  as  he  feeds  the  hungry 
souls  before  him  with  a  feast  of  delectable  things  ? 
bearing  them  on  the  tide  of  his  eloquence  to  that  great 
ocean  of  thought, — the   plan  of  redemption, — finally 


232  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

bringing  them  to  the  haven  of  rest,  the  foot  of  the 
cross. 

A  lull, — eager  expectation  expressed  in  attitudes  and 
faces,  and  the  preacher  enters  !  A  short,  thick-set  man, 
of  unwieldy  proportions  and  ungainly  figure,  with  a 
face  heavy,  but  not  dull ;  a  brown  eye,  not  naturally 
bright,  but  lighting  up  on  occasion  ;  a  countenance  alto- 
gether expressive  of  genial  benevolence,  but,  we  think, 
not  of  mental  power.  After  reading  the  Scripture,  ex- 
pounding its  meaning  at  great  length,  he  offers  prayer* 
And  here  is  his  power  manifest.  It  seems  to  us  that, 
through  its  earnest  reverence  of  tone,  its  persuasive 
appeal,  its  imploring  importunity,  its  sincere  but  not 
abject  humility  with  its  prevailing  spirit  of  worship- 
ful devotion,  it  must  win  a  heavenly  benediction  •  nor 
are  ours  the  only  moist  eyes  at  its  conclusion.  Such 
a  prayer,  one  of  the  most  remarkable  we  have  ever 
heard,  would  plough  deep  into  any  heart,  however  hard 
and  sterile,  preparing  it  for  the  sowing  of  the  seed  so 
abundantly  scattered  by  the  sermon  which  follows. 

Ah,  what  a  sermon !  It  is  based  upon  the  text, 
"Who  forgiveth  all  thine  iniquities."  Clear,  logical, 
and  conclusive  is  his  reasoning,  not  beyond  the  com- 
prehension of  the  most  ordinary  mind  or  of  an  intelli- 
gent child,  but  containing  the  germ  of  rich  thought, 
and  showing  much  originality  in  its  treatment.  His 
argument  is  lucid  and  systematic,  his  rhetoric  remark- 


LONDON.  233 

able  for  its  simplicity,  and  his  oratory  evidently  the 
result  only  of  impulse,  the  truest  guide,  and  not  of  pre- 
meditated study.  We  venture  to  say  that  "  every  head 
with  a  heart  to  it,  and  every  heart  with  a  head  to  it, 
answers  to  the  appeal"  which  closes  the  never-to-be- 
forgotten  sermon. 

Many  must  be  enamored  of  the  grace  and  beauty  of 
a  good  and  noble  life  as  he  pictures  it,  and  many,  too, 
conceive  a  greater  aversion  to  sin  as  they  listen  to  his 
vivid  portrayal  of  its  penalties  and  horrors.  Like 
Dry  den's  "  Good  Parson,"  "  he  preaches  the  joys  of 
heaven  and  pains  of  hell"  with  a  graphic  power  that 
wins  us  to  the  hope  of  the  one  and  fills  us  with  increased 
dread  of  the  other. 

And  yet  it  is  difficult  to  analyze  his  power  and  dis- 
cover wherein  lies  the  secret  of  his  unwaning  popu- 
larity. No  appeal  is  ever  intentionally  made  to  the 
humorous  element  of  our  nature  during  his  discourses, 
and  while  wit  does  not  tickle,  neither  is  fancy  made  to 
allure  our  senses  through  its  charm.  His  efforts  are 
characterized  by  an  intense  earnestness,  united  with  a 
full  purpose  of  heart  and  an  unswerving  adherence  to 
the  simple  tenets  of  the  most  orthodox  creed.  A  keen 
insight  into  the  heart  of  man,  a  knowledge  of  its  work- 
ings, gives  him  the  power  to  attack'  successfully  its 
weakest  points,  and  to  "  discover  to  ourselves  that  of 
ourselves  which  we  knew  not  of." 

11* 


234  WANDERING   THOUGHTS: 

His  is  a  thoroughly  well  balanced  mind  and  char- 
acter, a  remarkably-developed  common  sense  restrain- 
ing him  from  the  commission  of  those  petty  follies  which 
impair  a  minister's  usefulness,  as  flaws  in  the  precious 
diamond  depreciate  its  value  in  the  estimation  of  the 
world. 

His  private  life — if  such  a  man  may  be  said  to  have 
one — defies  the  investigation  of  even  an  enemy,  and  is 
as  unblemished  and  beautiful  in  its  consistency  as  the 
most  carping  critic  could  demand. 

How  rarely  discovered  is  such  a  human  jewel,  a  well- 
rounded  character !  An  intellect  and  power  deep 
enough  to  sustain  and  feed  a  great  reputation  year 
after  year;  thoughts  constantly  bubbling  forth  from 
the  unfailing  fountain  of  his  heart  and  mind,  which, 
by  their  clearness,  force,  and  beauty,  command  the  ad- 
miration of  the  learned  as  well  as  the  unlettered;  a 
will  so  strong  and  a  principle  so  well  grounded  as  to 
remain  unshaken  through  the  vicissitudes  of  a  com- 
paratively long  life,  resisting  all  the  temptation  which 
assails  even  the  purest  soul;  a  faith  so  firmly  estab- 
lished on  the  6i  E-ock  of  Ages"  as  never  to  be  blown 
into  those  heresies  which,  to  say  the  least,  are  innova- 
tions upon  the  rigorous  simplicity  and  purity  of  our 
grand  creed. 

With  a  morbidly  sensitive  nervous  system,  over- 
wrought by  the  exorbitant  demands  made  upon  it,  and 


HAMPTON  COURT.  235 

a  body  much  of  the  time  tortured  by  pain,  he  per- 
forms herculean  labors,  seeming  to  act  upon  the  con- 
viction that  the  harvest-time  in  which  to  garner  his 
sheaves  will  be  short,  seeing  probably  a  cloud  in  the 
sky  which,  now  no  larger  than  a  man's  hand,  may  ere 
long  burst  in  storm  upon  his  devoted  head. 

During  a  personal  interview  with  Mr.  Spurgeon  we 
discover  his  social  powers  and  manner  to  be  as  charming 
as  his  pulpit  efforts  are  edifying. 

HAMPTQN"   COURT. 

One  of  those  sunny,  exquisite  views  that  memory 
loves  often  to  reproduce,  and  which  defy  time's  ob- 
literating power,  is  that  of  the  Thames  from  Rich- 
mond Terrace.  But  the  vista,  so  beautiful,  opens  to 
us  many  features  that  help  to  adorn  a  landscape. 
Were  the  soul  tempest- tossed,  it  would  learn  a  lesson 
of  repose  and  peacefulness  that  would  allay  its  unrest 
and  lull  it  into  a  tranquillity  such  as  the  eye  there 
dwells  upon,  for  we  believe  that  the  spirit  of  every 
lover  of  Nature  catches  its  tone  and  is  in  harmony 
with  it.  When  shadows  fill  the  sky,  dimming  its 
brightness,  and  the  air  is  murky  and  heavy  with 
gloom,  is  not  the  spirit  burdened  and  oppressed  ?  Or 
when  the  sun  lights  up  the  face  of  Nature  with  its 
cheerful  beams,  the  atmosphere  bright  and  electric, 
does  not  the  soul  catch  its  glow  and  reflect  its  warmth? 


236  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

And  should  the  birds,  through  whose  joyous  notes 
Nature  expresses  her  jubilance,  fill  the  air  with  their 
thrilling  melody,  the  very  soul,  in  sympathetic  accord, 
bursts  into  glad  song,  the  human  heart  beating  in 
unison  with  the  great  pulse  of  Nature. 

The  carriage  stops  as  we  reach  the  favored  spot,  and 
we  alight,  the  better  to  enjoy  a  scene  which  is  consid- 
ered by  some  to  offer  one  of  the  finest  views  of  the 
Thames  in  England.  But  as  the  sky  is  not  satisfied 
with  its  grand  luminary,  the  moon,  but  calls  to  its  aid 
the  auxiliary  light  of  the  stars,  so  Nature  to  the  beau- 
ties of  the  Thames  has  added  those  of  meadow,  brook, 
hill,  and  copse,  which  are  not  unworthy  of  bordering 
the  train  of  her  graceful  sweep.  The  queenly  river, 
is  seen  in  the  distance  meandering  through  the  land- 
scape, while  between  it  and  us  is  a  pastoral  view  of 
such  beauty  as  fully  vindicates  its  fame.  We  look 
upon  the  rich  bordering  meadows,  where  cattle  lazily 
browse  under  the  shadow  of  spreading  trees;  gentle 
undulations  displaying  to  advantage  their  beautiful 
green;  trees  of  every  shade  and  many  varieties;  the 
hawthorn  and  other  shrubs  vying  with  them  in  lux- 
uriance; and  gliding  streams  embroidering,  as  with 
silver  threads,  the  velvety  green  of  the  pastures.  The 
sun,  as  if  jealous  of  other  beautifying  influences,  seems 
determined  to  embellish  with  superb  skill  a  scene  so 
fair,  and  we  stand  admiring  the  pencilled  lines  of  light 


HAMPTON  COURT.  237 

and  shade,  observing  that  the  beauty  before  us  is  much 
enhanced  by  the  coquettish  play  of  shadow  and  sun- 
beam. 

Driving  a  mile  and  a  half  through  the  broad  avenue 
of  Bushey  Park,  we  enjoy  the  remarkable  sight  of  a 
double  row,  on  each  side,  of  immense  horse-chestnut- 
trees.  We  believe  it  would  be  impossible  to  find 
another  such  display  of  trees. 

Hampton  Court  Palace,  at  which  this  avenue  ends, 
was  built  by  Cardinal  Wolsey,  who  presented  it  to 
Henry  VIII.  It  was  afterwards  a  favorite  residence 
of  Oliver  Cromwell,  and  was  enlarged  by  William 
III.  The  splendor  of  the  furniture  and  of  the  apart- 
ments has  faded  out,  but  the  paintings,  chiefly  by 
Benjamin  West,  are  very  fine.  The  grandest  apart- 
ment of  the  palace;  we  think,  is  Wolsey's  Great  Hall. 
This,  of  Gothic  architecture,  is  noble  in  size.  The 
carving  of  the  ceiling  is  remarkably  intricate  and 
beautiful,  and  the  stained  glass  of  the  windows  is  in 
keeping.  The  Hall  is  hung  with  very  ancient  tapestry, 
representing  scenes  from  the  life  of  Abraham. 

The  signs  of  dilapidation,  decay,  and  forlornness 
pervading  this  once  magnificent  apartment,  and,  in- 
deed, every  portion  of  the  interior  of  the  palace,  are 
symbolical  of  the  complete  ruin  and  disaster  which 
overtook  its  founder.  History  hardly  affords  another 
such  example  of  vaulting  ambition,  daring  assumption 


238  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

of  royal  state  and  prerogative,  and  the  extreme  arro- 
gance which  is  their  natural  outgrowth,  as  the  life  of 
this  unspiritual  prelate  exhibits;  presenting  a  drama 
whose  gorgeous  acts  were  in  such  singular  contrast  to 
the  pitiable  drop-scene  which  closed  all  to  human  vision. 
What  school-boy  is  not  familiar  with  the  pathetic 
words  which  Shakspeare  borrowed  from  the  dying 
utterances  of  the  once  haughty  cardinal,  when  his 
"  fallen  greatness"  had  succeeded  his  unparalleled 
prosperity? 

The  gardens  are  delightful,  offering  the  variety  of 
lawn,  shaded  walks,  and  flowers,  with  terraces  which 
overlook  the  river.  In  a  conservatory  is  to  be  seen  the 
largest  grape-vine,  it  is  thought,  in  the  world.  It 
measures  one  hundred  and  ten  feet  in  the  extent  of  its 
branches  from  the  stem ;  the  principal  stem  having  a 
circumference  of  nearly  thirty  inches.  It  often  bears 
three  thousand  bunches  a  year,  and  these  are  sent  to  the 
Queen. 

There  the  fruit  hangs  in  rich,  purple  clusters.  Tan- 
talus-like, we  see  it  swaying  before  our  eyes  but 
beyond  our  grasp.  Was  Eve  tempted  thus  ?  Alas ! 
if  so,  she  has  been  too  harshly  condemned. 

"  Will  you  not  sell  us  at  least  a  leaf  of  this  wonder- 
ful vine  as  a  souvenir  ?"  we  plead  with  the  keeper. 
"Oh,  no,  not  for  any  amount  of  money,"  he  replies. 
"I  might  make  my  fortune  quickly  if  I  accepted  all 


HAMPTON  COURT.  239 

the  bribes  offered  me ;  but,  you  see,  it  belongs  to  the 
Queen." 

Turning  from  the  coveted  fruit,  we  cannot  withhold 
our  commendation  of  his  incorruptible  honesty,  which, 
whether  it  originates  from  innate  principle  or  from 
policy,  we  feel  should  be  encouraged. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

WINDSOR  CASTLE— STOKE-POGIS— THE  DAIRYMAN'S 

DAUGHTER. 

WINDSOR   CASTLE. 

Taking  the  train  at  London,  we  arrive  at  Windsor 
after  an  hour's  pleasant  ride.  The  castle,  as  one  ap- 
proaches it,  presents  a  grandly  imposing  appearance, 
being  one  of  the  most  magnificent  royal  palaces  in  the 
world.  It  is  difficult  for  one  unaccustomed  to  mon- 
archical institutions  to  associate  a  home  with  such  a 
mammoth  pile. 

As  we  thread  its  grand  corridors  and  walk  through 
its  vast  apartments, — almost  lost  in  immensity, — real- 
izing its  capacity  to  accommodate  the  inhabitants  of 
an  ordinary-sized  village,  we  think  that  the  possessor 
of  a  cosy  home,  whose  sacred  privacy  is  its  chief 
charm ;  whose  walls  are  so  near  that  one  may  realize 
their  encircling  protection;  whose  fireside  is  a  snug 
retreat  from  the  weary  exactions  of  social  life;  where 
one  may  foster  those  sweet  domestic  tastes  which  seek 

the  shade  of  retirement  and  avoid  the  glare  of  public 

240 


WINDSOR   CASTLE.  241 

life,  would  scarce  covet  such  a  home  as  this  and  other 
kingly  palaces  afford ;  shrinking  from  their  dreary 
vastness  and  stately  grandeur,  for  the  joys  of  home-life 
are  essentially  simple  in  their  nature. 

The  dining-rooms  are  grand  banqueting-halls ;  the 
sleeping-apartments  in  their  loftiness  and  spaciousness 
suggesting  to  modesty  a  desire  for  the  privacy  which 
they  do  not  seem  to  afford.  But  we  remember  that 
the  occupants  were  bred  amid  such  scenes,  and  that 
their  tastes  may  require  just  such  pompous  surround- 
ings for  their  fullest  gratification. 

The  castle,  the  embodiment  of  solidity  and  vast 
proportions,  with  its  thirteen  turrets  and  round  tower 
or  keep  in  the  centre ;  its  elevation,  overlooking  the 
Thames  for  many  miles ;  its  beautiful  terraces,  park, 
and  gardens,  helps  to  realize  our  early  imaginings  of  a 
castle  palace. 

The  chapel  in  which  the  royal  nuptials  are  cele- 
brated, and  which,  from  all  its  associations,  must  be 
very  interesting,  is  closed  for  extensive  repairs.  We 
enjoy,  however,  the  privilege  of  a  visit  to  the  private 
chapel  which  has  been  erected  by  the  Queen  as  a  me- 
morial to  the  Prince  Consort.  It  is  ostentatious  and 
costly.  The  floor  and  walls  are  formed  of  a  mosaic  of 
the  richest  marbles  of  many  colors,  with  texts  of  Scrip- 
ture inserted  in  each  panel.  White  marble  statuary 
and   exceedingly   beautiful    stained   glass    add   to   its 


242  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

effective  beauty.  On  a  marble  bier  in  the  centre  of 
the  chapel  lies  the  effigy  of  the  noble  man,  who  was  in 
every  way  worthy  of  the  affectionate  honor  paid  his 
memory. 

Every  patriotic  American  may  well  drop  a  tear  at 
the  sepulchre  of  him,  who  was  to  our  country  a 
staunch  friend  in  her  hour  of  need,  anticipating, 
through  his  clear-sighted  and  far-seeing  judgment,  in 
the  grand  result  of  our  conflict,  the  glorious  vindi- 
cation of  divine  justice  and  human  right. 

Taking  a  carriage,  we  ride  to  Eton  Hall  and  view 
its  venerable,  classic  walls.  This  famous  school  has 
nurtured  much  youthful  genius  which  has  ripened 
later  into  splendid  maturity,  as  many  distinguished 
men,  in  the  varied  professions,  have  been  its  pupils. 
The  hall,  being  situated  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Thames,  forms,  with  its  "  distant  spires  and  antique 
towers,"  a  pleasing  prospect  from  the.  castle. 

Driving  farther  on,  we  come  to  the  village  of  Stoke- 
Pogis,  where  the  poet  Gray  lived  for  many  years,  and 
where  he  is  buried. 

STOKE-POGIS. 

At  the  close  of  a  busy  day,  as  the  sun  is  filling  the 
western  sky  with  its  departing  glory ;  the  air  full  of 
dim  shadows;  the  sweet  notes  of  the  birds  dying 
away ;   all   nature   sinking   into   an   early  repose,  we 


STOKE-POGIS.  243 

stand  by  the  little  gate  which  opens  into  the  graveyard 
where  Gray  wrote  his  immortal  "  Elegy."  It  is  a 
quiet  and  impressive  scene,  all  the  influences  of  the 
hour  harmonizing  with  it,  and  so  in  accordance  with 
the  spirit  of  the  poem,  that  we  involuntarily  listen 
for  "  the  curfew"  to  toll  "  the  knell  of  parting  day." 
Tli ere  is  the  little  church,  with  its  pretty  tower,  peep- 
ing forth  from  amid  its  ivy  mantle ;  the  vine  of  lux- 
uriant growth,  enfolding  the  whole  church  with  its 
tendrils,  imparts  to  the  simple  architecture  a  pictu- 
resque beauty  which  lacks  no  charm. 

Opposite,  and  overshadowing  the  rustic  porch,  is  the 
yew-tree  under  whose  drooping  branches  we  stand, 
recalling  to  mind  the  exquisite  poem  which  had  de- 
lighted our  childhood,  and  which,  unlike  most  youthful 
tastes,  has  not  lost  in  maturer  life  its  sweet  flavor. 
Surrounding  us  are  the  "  narrow  cells"  of  the  "  rude 
forefathers."  Conspicuous  among  them  is  the  tomb  of 
the  poet  who  made  this  rural  little  graveyard  an  object 
of  tender  regard  to  the  world.  It  is  of  plain  brick, 
covered  with  a  slab  of  slate,  on  which  is  the  following 
inscription,  written  by  Gray,  in  memory  of  his  mother 
and  aunt,  whose  death  preceded  his : 

"  In  the  vault  beneath  are  deposited,  in  hope  of  a  joyful  resur- 
rection, the  remains  of  Mary  Antrobus.  She  died  unmarried, 
Nov.  5th,  1749,  aged  sixty-six.  In  the  same  pious  confidence, 
beside  her  friend  and  sister,  here  sleep  the  remains  of  Dorothy 


244  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

Gray,  widow ;  the  tender,  careful  mother  of  many  children,  one 
of  whom  alone  had  the  misfortune  to  survive  her.  She  died 
March  11th,  1753,  aged  sixty-seven." 

A  tablet  inserted  in  the  wall  of  the  church,,  opposite 
the  tomb,  records  the  fact  that  the  poet  also  is  buried 
here.  Near  the  churchyard  stands  a  monument  erected 
to  his  memory.  It  is  of  freestone,  consisting  of  a  sar- 
cophagus supported  upon  a  square  pedestal.  On  each 
side  are  inscriptions  taken  from  his  poems. 

With  lingering  step  we  walk  down  the  narrow  path 
lined  on  each  side  by  lowly  mounds ;  and,  leaning  over 
the  little  gate,  strive  to  photograph  on  heart  and  memory 
the  sweet  and  lovely  picture.  The  simple  beauty  of  the 
scene  is  heightened  by  its  quiet  seclusion.  No  noisy 
hum  of  human  voices  disturbs  the  "  solemn  stillness"  of 
the  dead,  whose  very  dust  is  so  sacred ;  no  busy  haunts 
of  men  crowd  upon  the  view ;  only  the  natural  beauty 
of  the  green-spreading  "  lea,"  the  venerable  trees,  the 
circling  hedges,  and  an  occasional  pretty  cottage,  meeting 
the  eye. 

THE   DAIRYMAN'S   DAUGHTER. 

Taking  a  carriage  at  Ventnor,  on  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
we  drive  to  Newport,  making  a  detour  to  visit  the 
cottage  of  the  "  Dairyman's  Daughter"  at  Arreton,  and 
the  graveyard  beyond,  where  she  lies  buried. 

We  fall  into  a  pleasing  re  very  as  we  ride  through 


THE  DAIRYMAN'S  DAUGHTER.  245 

the  quiet  country  roads,  bordered  on  both  sides  by  arable 
fields  enclosed  by  green  hawthorn  hedges.  And  here 
let  us  testify  to  this  pretty  feature  in  the  English  land- 
scape, as  being  infinitely  preferable  to  our  own  unpic- 
turesque  rail  fences. 

We  think  of  the  strangeness  of  our  mission  :  for 
weeks  and  months  we  have  journeyed,  turning  here 
and  there  aside  to  visit  some  renowned  spot  memorable 
in  the  history  of  the  country  and  of  the  world ;  many 
grand  cathedrals,  superb  in  architecture,  and  wondrous 
in  age ;  many  storied  ruins  which  have  withstood  the 
havoc  of  time,  and  are  standing  in  mute  eloquence  to 
tell  of  the  grandeur  and  opulence  of  former  ages  •  and 
many  palaces  of  royalty,  glittering  in  gold  and  orna- 
ment, yet  cheerless  in  their  vastness.  Many  times, 
too,  have  we  stood  by  the  ostentatious  monuments  of 
the  dead,  whose  living  celebrity  finds  commemoration 
in  death  through  the  display  of  richest  marble  shaped 
by  rare  skill.  But  now  we,  in  common  with  others,  are 
seeking  a  grave  so  humble  that  one  must  look  sharply 
to  find  it ;  no  marble  sarcophagus,  or  imposing  pillar  of 
granite,  distinguishing  it  above  the  simple  slabs  mark- 
ing the  surrounding  mounds ;  the  grave,  too,  of  a  lowly 
uneducated  girl,  whose  humble  home,  a  few  miles  distant, 
is  also  a  shrine  for  the  pilgrim. 

What  a  triumph  is  this  for  truth  and  piety  !  As  we 
bow  reverently  over  the  slumbering  dead,  we  are  pay- 


246  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

ing  our  humble  tribute  to  the  grandeur  of  that  Chris- 
tian faith  which  found  such  powerful  exemplification 
in  the  character  of  the  humble  "  Dairyman's  Daughter." 
The  name  of  the  dead,  and  the  respective  dates  of  her 
birth  and  death,  are  preceded  by  the  following  lines 
written  by  her  honored  biographer,  Legh  Richmond : 

11  Stranger !  if  e'er,  by  chance  or  feeling  led, 
Upon  this  hallowed  turf  thy  footsteps  tread, 
Turn,  think  on  her  whose  spirit  rests  with  God. 
Lowly  her  lot  on  earth,  but  He  who  bore 
Tidings  of  grace  and  blessings  to  the  poor 
Gave  her  this  truth  and  faithfulness,  to  prove 
The  choicest  treasures  of  His  boundless  love — 
Faith,  that  dispelled  affliction's  darkest  gloom  ; 
Hope,  that  could  cheer  the  passage  to  the  tomb  ; 
Peace,  that  not  Hell's  dark  regions  could  destroy ; 
And  love,  that  filled  the  soul  with  heavenly  joy  ; 
Death,  of  its  sting  disarmed,  she  knew  no  fear, 
But  tasted  Heaven  e'en  while  she  lingered  here. 
O  happy  saint !  may  we,  like  thee,  be  blest, 
In  life  be  faithful,  and  in  death  find  rest !" 

Filled  with  solemn  thought,  we  turn  away  and  enter 
the  plain  old  church,  which  is  enclosed  within  the 
small  graveyard;  here  the  pew  is  pointed  out  where 
the  youthful  saint  sat  beneath  the  eye  of  that  earnest 
exponent  of  gospel  truth,  her  pastor  at  one  time,  and 
subsequently  her  biographer. 

The  cottage  where  her  simple  life  was  passed  is  of 


THE  DAIRYMAN'S  DAUGHTER.  247 

very  humble  construction ;  low,  with  a  thatched  roof, 
and  covered  still  with  clambering  vines,  which  festoon 
the  small  windows,  darkening  the  little  family  room, 
into  which  the  front  door  opens.  A  shed  attached  to 
one  end  of  the  cottage,  where  the  dairyman  sheltered 
the  few  cows  which  afforded  him  his  meagre  support, 
still  offers  protection  to  "  lowly  kine."  We  open  the 
little  wicket-gate  and  ascend  the  walk  which  leads  to 
the  cottage.  Homely  domestic  plants  line  the  simple 
flagging  and  fill  the  narrow  flower-beds  beside  the  door 
at  which  we  knock.  We  wait  long,  trembling  lest  our 
pilgrimage  should  prove  unsuccessful,  and  then,  repeat- 
ing our  rap,  hear  unwilling  steps  approach  from  within. 
An  old  woman  opens  narrowly  the  door  and  scans  us 
ungraciously.  We  tell  her  we  have  come  from  far  to 
see  the  home  of  the  "  Dairyman's  Daughter/'  and  hope 
she  will  gratify  us,  expressing  our  willingness  to  com- 
pensate her  for  the  trouble.  " No,"  she  says ;  "hun- 
dreds come  here  to  see  the  house,  and  I  am  not  well, 
and  have  decided  that  I  will  refuse  everybody.'7  See- 
ing the  disappointment  her  words  produce,  she  relents 
so  far  as  to  say,  "  You  can  look  in  this  room  if  you 
like,"  stepping  aside  that  we  may  see,  without  giving 
us  the  opportunity  of  entering. 

It  is  a  small,  square  apartment,  with  very  low  ceil- 
ing, and  having  the  ordinary  appearance  of  a  cottager's 
family  room.     Gladly  would   we  mount   the   narrow 


248  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

stairs  to  the  chamber  where  the  almost  sainted  spirit 
"  exhaled  its  flight  to  heaven,"  believing  that  the  cham- 
ber where  the  pious  soul  meets  its  fate 

"  Is  privileged  beyond  the  common  walks 
Of  virtuous  life,  quite  in  the  verge  of  heaven." 

And  although  the  pure  presence  of  her  who  made 
this  place  sacred  by  association  has  long  since  fled,  yet 
the  aroma  of  a  good  life  lingers  like  the  perfume  of  a 
rare  rose  long  after  its  leaves  have  withered  and  died.. 
Sanctity  seems  to  pervade  the  place,  and  it  is  almost 
prayerfully  that  we  turn  from  the  humble  shrine, 
plucking  a  leaf  from  the  vine  which  shelters  the  little 
window. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

OXFORD  —  KENILWORTH— HADDON  HALL  —  CHATS- 
WORTH. 

OXFORD. 

Oxford  owes  its  celebrity  chiefly  to  the  University, 
which  is  one  of  the  most  famed  institutions  for  learning, 
not  only  in  England,  but  of  the  world.  To  be  a  grad- 
uate of  Oxford,  or  of  Cambridge  as  well,  is  a  literary 
distinction  of  which  England's  greatest  men  are  proud, 
their  honors  ennobling  any  name. 

The  city  is  situated  at  the  confluence  of  the  two  rivers 
Isis  and  Cherwell,  and  near  the  Thames  ;  their  waters 
affording  facilities  for  the  indulgence  of  boating  exer- 
cise, so  dear  to  collegiate  youths  in  these  days;  some, 
it  is  to  be  feared,  engaging  more  eagerly  in  those 
aquatic  sports  than  in  slaking  thirst  at  the  fountain 
of  knowledge.  The  large  extent  of  beautiful  rich 
meadow-land  which  lies  between  the  rivers  and  the 
city  affords  pretty  rural  views  for  the  book- wearied 
eyes  of  the  students  to  rest  upon;  for  how  grateful  to 
eye  and  brain  is  it,  when  both  are  "  worn  and  hard 

12  249 


250  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

beset/'  to  gaze  upon  the  sweet  repose  and  fresh  bright 
face  of  Nature  !  How  oft,  when  the  mind  is  wearied, 
the  memory  burdened,  the  thought  perplexed,  and  the 
mental  vision  dimmed  with  the  arduous  study  which 
also  brings  "  weariness  to  the  flesh,"  is  rest  obtained, 
and  even  inspiration  Avon,  in  walking  abroad  in  the 
woods,  "  whose  very  air  is  holy" !  in  looking  upon  the 
dewy  freshness  of  leaf  and  grass  and  upon  broad  flow- 
ering meadows,  Nature's  easel,  where  the  colors,  richly 
combined,  bring  brightness  to  the  spirit  and  delight  to 
the  eye ! 

As  the  University  comprises  nineteen  colleges  and 
five  halls,  we  think  it  best  to  visit  two  of  the  most 
prominent ;  selecting,  by  advice,  Magdalen  and  Christ 
Colleges  as  representative  ones.  Each  college  and  hall 
forms  a  separate  establishment  of  itself,  having  its  own 
students  and  teachers,  and  yet  all  are  subject  to  the 
government  of  the  University.  Its  origin  is  lost  in 
obscurity,  many  supposing  that  it  was  founded  by  that 
good  and  wise  king  and  patron  of  letters,  Alfred  the 
Great.  Some  fix  its  date  considerably  later ;  but,  how- 
ever this  may  be,  that  its  extreme  age  entitles  it  to  our 
reverence  none  can  doubt. 

We  find  the  classic  halls  deserted,  as  the  summer's 
vacation  is  yet  in  progress,  and  therefore,  being  ap- 
parently "  monarchs  of  all  we  survey,"  we  linger  long 
amid  scenes  to  which  time  itself  has  given  distinction, 


OXFORD.  251 

and  with  which  we  can  associate  much  of  the  talent 
which  for  centuries  has  adorned  the  literature,  parlia- 
ment, and  pulpit  of  England. 

The  college  buildings  form  a  quadrangle,  the  stu- 
dents' apartments  being  around  it.  As  we  enter  the 
court  of  Magdalen  College,  we  are  surprised  into  gen- 
eral exclamation  :  the  air  is  literally  burdened  with  the 
perfume  of  the  sweet-brier;  never  were  we  conscious 
of  odor  more  heavy  and  pervading.  Stepping  forward, 
a  pretty,  picturesque  little  view  presents  itself.  We 
penetrate  into  the  inner  court,  and  there,  entwining 
each  pillar  and  interlacing  the  spaces,  is  the  sweet-brier 
whose  delicious  fragrance  ministered  to  our  delight  ere 
we  had  discovered  its  source.  The  luxuriant  vine  gives 
grace  to  the  quaint  old  architecture  of  the  ornamented 
walls,  which  throw  their  shadow  upon  a  plat  of  pretty 
green  grass. 

The  dining-hall  shown  us  is  really  very  elegant,  the 
wainscoting  of  richly-polished  walnut;  fine  portraits 
embellishing  its  surface.  The  professor's  table,  occupy- 
ing one  end  of  the  dining-room,  is  placed  on  a  raised 
platform,  the  students'  tables  occupying  the  main  floor. 

The  grounds  pertaining  to  this  college,  including  a 
deer-park,  are  more  beautiful  and  extensive  than  those 
belonging  to  any  other.  We  hasten  to  see  the  shaded 
avenue  which  is  said  to  have  been  the  favorite  walk  of 
Addison  while  a  student  here.     We  notice  particularly 


252  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

the  luxuriant  growth  of  the  hawthorn,  equalling  that 
of  a  full-sized  tree,  and  many  other  rich  varieties  of 
foliage.  We  can  imagine  that  the  contemplative  mind 
of  the  graceful  essayist  would  find  congenial  influences 
amid  such  natural  beauties  as  here  feasted  his  eyes  and 
soul,  his  gentle  spirit,  refined  thought,  and  cultivated 
mind  seeking  nutriment  from  Nature's  inexhaustible 
sources.  Who,  indeed,  has  ever  drained  them,  or,  hun- 
gering and  thirsting  for  divine  knowledge,  spiritual 
strength,  or  mental  suggestion,  has  left  her  grand  cathe- 
dral, with  its  spired  trees,  towering  hills,  and  dome  of 
blue,  that  did  not  feel  elevated  by  the  worship,  armed 
for  life's  moral  conflicts,  and  equipped  for  intellectual 
victories  ? 

As  the  Magdalen  is  the  most  beautiful  and  pictu- 
resque, so  Christ  College  is  the  largest  and  grandest. 
Its  chapel,  dating  from  1154,  is  very  curious  in  its 
ancient  tombs,  and  elegant  in  its  more  modern  features. 
Its  architecture  is  chiefly  Norman-Gothic,  although 
many  later  styles  have  been  introduced. 

Riding  through  the  old  city,  our  driver  halts,  and, 
pointing  to  a  stone  in  the  middle  of  a  street,  declares  it 
to  be  the  identical  spot  where  the  aged  martyrs  Latimer 
and  Ridley  were  burned  at  the  stake.  The  flat  stone 
inserted  there  to  identify  the  spot  is  in  the  shape  of  a 
cross.  Farther  on,  in  St.  Giles  Street,  is  the  "  Martyrs' 
Memorial."   Unfortunately,  the  narrowness  of  the  street 


KENIL  WORTH.  253 

in  which  they  so  heroically  met  their  cruel  fate  would 
not  admit  of  the  erection  of  the  grand  monument.  Its 
inscription  includes  the  name  of  Cranmer,  who  was 
subjected  to  a  similar  martyrdom  six  months  later. 

A  remarkable  fact  in  connection  with  the  death  of 
Latimer  and  Ridley  is  related  in  history  of  Bishop 
Gardiner,  whose  animosity  towards  these  saintly  men 
was  such  that  he  declared  on  the  day  of  their  death 
that  he  would  not  dine,  until  he  received  information 
that  fire  was  set  to  the  fagots  with  which  they  were  to 
be  burned. 

The  information  not  reaching  him  as  soon  as  expected, 
the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  who  was  his  guest  that  day,  was 
compelled  to  wait  for  his  dinner  from  eleven  o'clock, 
the  usual  dinner-hour,  until  three  o'clock.  But  the 
wicked,  bigoted  bishop  was  destined  not  to  partake  of 
the  dinner,  for  when  it  was  served,  on  the  arrival  of 
the  longed-for  intelligence,  he  was  taken  suddenly  ill, 
and,  being  put  to  bed,  soon  died. 

KENILWOETH. 

So  successful  was  Walter  Scott  in  investing  Kenil- 
worth  Castle,  through  his  delightful  novel,  with  romantic 
charm,  that  while  preparing  to  visit  its  famous  ruins  we 
find  scenes  from  the  sad  history  of  Amy  Robsart  are 
floating  on  our  minds  and  becoming  entangled  in  our 
thoughts. 


254  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

In  tracing  the  origin  of  the  castle  we  learn  that  it 
was  founded  by  Geoffrey  de  Clinton,  chamberlain  and 
treasurer  to  Henry  I.  Most  of  the  buildings  now  ex- 
tant were  erected  by  John  of  Gaunt,  father  of  Henry 
IV.  Continuing  in  possession  of  the  crown,  Elizabeth 
bestowed  it  upon  Robert  Dudley,  Earl  of  Leicester, 
who  is  said  to  have  expended  sixty  thousand  pounds 
upon  its  enlargement  and  decoration,  and  with  fabulous 
munificence  to  have  entertained  here  his  enamored 
sovereign  and  her  court  for  seventeen  days. 

What  must  this  princely  abode  and  ancient  strong- 
hold have  been  in  the  days  of  its  prime,  when  now  in 
its  decay  it  commands  our  wondering  admiration, 
astonishing  us  with  its  mammoth  proportions  and 
remains  of  architectural  beauty ! 

So  formidable  is  the  entrance  that,  as  we  apply  for 
admittance,  we  almost  expect  to  be  challenged  by  an 
armed  sentry ;  instead  of  which  a  meek-eyed  woman 
opens  the  portals  to  us.  Passing  through,  we  soon  con- 
front the  grand  mass  of  ruins.  What  a  tale  they  tell 
of  ancient  prowess  and  grandeur !  Built  on  a  knoll, 
they  are  the  more  imposing.  Caesar's  tower,  or  the 
keep,  stands  on  one  side,  and,  being  compact,  solid,  and 
intact,  looks  grand  in  its  strength.  There  it  has  stood 
for  ages,  frowning  down  upon  the  peaceful  village  and 
smiling  landscape.  Its  walls  are  of  almost  incredible 
thickness,  and  are  completely  covered  with  a  vine  whose 


KENIL  WOR  TH.  255 

root  is  of  a  size  we  never  saw  equalled  in  the  ivy. 
The  central  ruin  consists  mainly  of  the  banqueting-hall, 
whose  architectural  ornamentation  is  the  greatest  attrac- 
tion of  the  ruins.  The  lofty  casements,  curtained  by 
drooping  vines,  are  exquisite  in  symmetry  and  grace. 
As  we  gaze  upon  these  relics  of  bygone  splendor,  invol- 
untarily we  repeople  the  deserted  banquet-hall  with  the 
old-time  chivalry  and  with  the  grace  and  beauty  of  the 
court.  A  glittering  pageant  flashes  upon  our  view, — 
the  haughty  earl,  host  to  the  virgin  queen,  leading  with 
her  the  courtly  train  ;  a  brilliant  company  in  dazzling 
array,  representing  the  highest  nobility  of  the  land ; 
gay  courtiers  and  high-born  dames  with  stately  tread 
brush  past ;  and  penetrating  the  royal  scene  our  fancy 
has  conjured,  comes  the  thought  of  the  unhappy  Amy 
left  in  the  neighboring  town  by  her  faithful  escort, 
Hamilton. 

But  we  are  rudely  restored  to  our  identity  by  the 
summons  to  clamber  up  a  flight  of  stairs  that  one  of 
our  party  has  discovered,  resuming  as  hastily  as  may 
be  our  role  of  modern  tourist.  The  interior  of  the 
remainder  of  the  castle  fails  to  reward  prolonged  in- 
spection, for,  having  been  built  originally  as  a  strong- 
hold, it  seems  truly  more  like  a  fortress  than  a  palace- 
home. 

How  strange  indeed  it  is  that  Elizabeth,  who  dis- 
played so  much  masculine   strength   and   decision   of 


256  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

character  in  the  administration  of  public  affairs,  who 
proved  her  penetrating  sagacity  in  the  choice  of  her 
prime  ministers  and  other  officers  of  government,  adopt- 
ing so  sound  a  policy  in  her  monarchical  relations, 
exercising  so  wise  and  beneficent  a  judgment  as  to  win 
the  admiring  approval  of  the  world  then,  and  the  more 
dispassionate  verdict  of  all  time  since,  should  have 
proved  herself  to  be  the  weakest  of  women  in  matters 
of  the  heart !  The  history  of  her  emotional  experience 
evinces  a  positive  craving  for  love  and  its  joys,  and 
had  it  not  been  for  the  equally  marked  love  of  power, 
— and  between  these  rival  desires  there  was  a  constant 
struggle  and  conflict, — she  would  have  probably  mar- 
ried one  of  the  three  noblemen  upon  whom  she  lavished 
her  regard.  And,  after  all,  did  not  the  feminine  ele- 
ment of  her  nature  prevail  in  the  end,  when,  ambition 
forgotten,  affairs  of  state  neglected,  womanly  dignity 
laid  aside,  self-respect,  even,  forfeited,  she  literally  died 
of  a  remorse  born  of  love  ? 

Is  not  woman  always  happier  as  queen  in  the  home- 
life, — her  kingdom,  the  family  circle ;  her  sceptre,  the 
wand  of  love ;  her  loving  subjects,  the  children  whose 
early  will  she  is  to  control,  character  to  mould,  mind  to 
cultivate,  and  heart  to  sow  with  seed  that  shall  spring 
up,  blossom,  and  bear  rich  fruit  for  time  and  for 
eternity? 


HADDON  HALL  AND   CHATS  WORTH.         257 

HADDON   HALL   AND   CHATSWORTH. 

11  Look  on  this  picture,  then  on  that." 

Haddon  Hall  and  Chats  worth  are  representative 
illustrations  of  the  homes  of  the  powerful  and  rich  of 
olden  and  of  modern  times.  The  former  is  a  remark- 
ably preserved  baronial  castle,  built  in  the  reign  of 
Edward  III.  Soon  after  the  Conquest  it  came  into 
possession  of  the  Vernon  family,  whose  last  male  de- 
scendant died  in  the  seventh  year  of  Queen  Elizabeth's 
reign.  Haddon  then  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  family 
of  Manners,  whom  the  Duke  of  Rutland  now  repre- 
sents. It  occupies  a  bold,  elevated  position,  and  is  an 
absorbing  object  in  the  landscape. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which  it  is  built  is  the 
humble  but  pretty  cottage  in  which  the  custodian  of  the 
castle  lives.  While  waiting  for  the  attendant  to  don 
her  fashionably-made  panniered  dress,  we  examine  the 
exterior  of  the  colossal  structure.  It  seems  in  its 
strength  able  to  resist  the  most  belligerent  assailants, 
and  we  contrast  the  domestic  experiences  of  its  original 
occupants,  who  were  compelled  to  live  within  en- 
trenched walls  of  such  massive  thickness  as  would 
repel  armed  hosts,  and  to  challenge  each  comer  as 
though  he  were  a  foe,  with  the  peaceful  serenity  of 
present  home-life,  when  the  English  nobleman  may 

'*  live  under  his  own  vine  and  fig-tree,"  "  with  none  to 

12* 


258  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

molest  or  make  him  afraid ;"  no  watchman  necessary 
to  give  hasty  warning  of  the  approaching  enemy ;  and 
instead  of  soldierly  retainers,  liveried  servants;  and 
in  lieu  of  bristling  walls  of  impregnable  strength,  the 
beautiful  flowering  hedge,  offering  no  bar,  but  embel- 
lishing the  fields  it  encloses  with  its  simple  blossom 
and  pretty  green. 

The  somewhat  elaborate  toilet  of  the  guide  com- 
pleted, she  appears  with  keys  in  hand,  inviting  us  to 
an  inspection  of  the  curious  old  castle.  First  we  are 
shown  a  little  room  where,  on  a  rude  wooden  table,  are 
a  pair  of  clumsy,  heavy  long  boots,  which,  tradition 
affirms,  once  encased  the  legs  of  that  rugged  soldier — ■ 
and,  we  believe,  honest  patriot — Oliver  Cromwell. 
This  small  room,  somewhat  apart  from  the  main  build- 
ing, is  thought  to  have  been  occupied  by  the  priest  of 
the  household.  Why  this  sacred  appendage  to  the 
establishment  was  needed  it  is  difficult  to  determine, 
unless  the  clerical  wink  and  convivial  aid  in  their  riot- 
ous bacchanalian  revelries  gave  spiritual  sanction  to 
their  excesses ! 

Farther  on  we  enter  the  chapel,  merely  an  ordinary 
apartment  with  a  plain  ancient  pulpit  and  rough 
wooden  benches.  We  visit  next  the  large  rambling 
kitchen,  noting  particularly  its  crude  arrangements.  A 
large,  round  block  covered  with  deep  indentations,  just 
such  as  is  used  now  by  butchers ;  fireplaces  large  enough 


CHATS  WORTH.  259 

to  roast  whole  oxen,  which  we  read  were  necessary  to 
supply  the  daily  demands  of  the  garrison-like  families 
who  occupied  the  castles  of  olden  times.  A  very  large 
receptacle  for  holding  salt  completes  the  contents  of  the 
kitchen.  Contiguous  to  it  is  the  banqueting-hall. 
Oh,  how  rough  and  crude  its  appointments ! 

Near  the  door,  on  the  wall,  is  an  iron  ring,  in  which 
the  arm  of  him  who  failed  to  drink  his  allotted  share 
of  the  "  good  cheer"  was  upheld,  while  cold  water  was 
poured  down  his  sleeve  until  he  would  promise  to  drink 
that  portion  which  he  had  neglected  to  imbibe  at  table. 

After  wandering  through  long  series  of  chambers 
above,  bare,  desolate,  and  despoiled,  we  turn  away,  glad 
that  the  ancient  landmark  has  been  spared  to  grace  the 
landscape,  but  thankful  that  the  march  of  civilization 
has  improved  domestic  habits,  lives,  and  homes,  so  that 
now  we  may  enjoy  those  refining  influences,  such  as 
will,  in  their  highest  development,  be  found  in  the 
modern  residence  of  the  Duke  of  Devonshire. 

CHATSWORTH 

is  the  famed  country-seat  of  the  Duke  of  Devonshire. 
We  ride  for  a  long  time  through  a  vast  area  of  coun- 
try— uncultivated,  apparently  lying  waste — belonging 
to  this  powerful  and  wealthy  family. 

Land-monopoly  is  the  great  curse  of  this  fair  coun- 
try.    A  relic  of  feudal  times,  it  is  not  consistent  with 


260  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

the  march  of  intelligent  progress.  Now  that  the  evils 
of  the  law  of  entail  are  being  recognized  by  some  of 
its  very  subjects,  we  feel  that  perhaps,  even  in  our  own 
time,  the  many  idle  hands  of  the  worthy  poor  will  be 
guiding  the  plough  over  the  waste  soil  now  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  few,  winning  sustenance  from  its  re- 
sources for  the  general  good. 

As  the  masses  are  the  substrata  of  social  life,  under- 
lying the  upper  crust,  we  believe  that  a  recognition  by 
them  of.  the  great  national  evil  will,  by  producing  an 
agitation,  shake  the  foundation  and  cause  to  crumble, 
and  finally  overthrow,  an  institution  so  disastrous  to 
the  welfare  of  the  majority.  Any  national  error  preju- 
dicing the  interests  of  the  masses  is  like  a  sore  on  the 
body  politic,  which,  festering  and  gathering  force,  will 
sooner  or  later  burst,  and  exuding  from  its  core  the 
corruption,  will  finally  heal  the  nation  of  that  which 
impedes  its  progress  toward  a  healthful  national  pros- 
perity. What  nation  oblivious  of  those  evils  which 
retard  the  progress  of  the  people  towards  independ- 
ence and  proprietorship,  forcing  them  into  conditions 
depressing  and  impoverishing,  withholding  from  them 
means  of  self-elevation  and  ambitious  enterprise,  ever 
attained  to  the  perfection  of  national  prosperity,  great- 
ness, and  self-sustenance  ? 

"  111  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
"Where  wealth  accumulates,  and  men  decay ; 


CHATS  WORTH.  261 

Princes  and  lords  may  flourish,  or  may  fade : 
A  breath  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has  made ; 
But  a  bold  peasantry,  their  country's  pride, 
"When  once  destroyed  can  never  be  supplied." 

Arrived  at  Chatsworth,  we  find  entrance  abundantly 
allowed  to  ourselves  and  many  others.  Several  neatly- 
dressed  and  intelligent  young  women  conduct  the  vis- 
itors through  suites  of  stately  apartments,  embellished 
with  works  of  art  such  as  usually  adorn  royal  palaces ; 
paintings,  valuable  as  portraits  of  historical  characters, 
or  as  works  of  the  old  masters  and  of  leading  modern 
artists.  We  are  also  permitted  to  enjoy  a  fine  gallery 
of  sculpture. 

The  family  chapel  of  this  princely  residence  is  elab- 
orately decorated  through  its  frescoed  ceilings  and  in 
its  rich  panelled  carvings ;  the  beauty  of  stained  glass 
and  marble  contributing  to  its  perfect  adornment.  We 
marvel  at  the  luxuriousness  of  these  accessories  to  pri- 
vate family  worship,  yet  heartily  approve  them,  for  we 
believe  there  should  be  a  harmony  of  outward  condi- 
tion with  the  grace,  concord,  and  beauty  of  the  spirit- 
ual nature. 

While  the  sincere  worshipper  needs  no  external  cir- 
cumstance to  prompt  his  devotion,  yet  his  whole  nature 
recognizes  and  rejoices  in  those  surroundings  and  influ- 
ences that,  in  sympathy  with  his  religious  emotions, 
cannot  fail  to  stimulate  and  enhance  the  enjoyment  of 


262  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

their  exercise.  Milton,  whose  pious  thought  seems  to 
have  been  almost  inspired,  and  whose  worship  was  in- 
stinctive and  sincere,  most  happily  expresses  the  effect 
of  those  aesthetic  forms  of  beauty  that,  through  the 
eye,  minister  to  the  soul,  and  those  subtile  influences 
which,  through  the  ear,  soften  and  often  subdue  the 
heart : 

"  I  love  the  high  embowed  roof, 
"With  antic  pillars  massy  proof, 
And  storied  windows  richly  dight, 
Casting  a  dim  religious  light. 
There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow 
To  the  full-voiced  choir  below, 
In  service  high  and  anthems  clear, 
As  may  with  sweetness  through  my  ear 
Dissolve  me  into  ecstasies, 
And  bring  all  heaven  before  my  eyes." 

The  conservatory  and  gardens  are  among  the  most 
celebrated  in  England.  The  former  is  three  hundred 
feet  long  by  one  hundred  and  forty-five  feet  wide,  and 
occupies  an  area  of  about  an  acre.  It  is  filled  with 
rare  and  exquisite  plants,  and  even  trees  have  been 
imported  from  their  distant  native  soil.  Every  clime 
seems  to  have  contributed  of  its  flowering  wealth  to  fill 
this  conservatory  with  bewildering  charm.  The  eye  is 
feasted  with  richest  color,  while  Araby's  gardens  have 
helped  to  burden  the  air  with  their  perfume.  The  air 
simulating  through  artificial  means  that  of  the  native 


CHATS  WORTH.  263 

clime  of  these  fair  daughters  of  the  soil,  and  the  sun's 
beams,  through  the  glass,  being  so  bright,  perhaps  they 
are  deluded  into  the  belief  that  they  are  basking  in  the 
rays  of  a  torrid  sun.  Roses  blush  beneath  its  fervid 
kiss,  and  lilies  pale  under  its  ardent  gaze  ;  while  trees, 
vines,  and  bushes  drop  prodigally  their  luscious  treas- 
ures. 

"  The  gardens  next  our  admiration  call." 

They  are  planned  and  arranged  scientifically,  art 
often  superseding  nature ;  no  natural 

"  Wildness  to  perplex  the  scene. 
*         *         *         *         *         # 

Grove  nods  at  grove, 
Each  alley  has  a  brother." 

Perhaps  some  would  enjoy  more  that  simplicity  of 
nature  which  is  here  exchanged  for  the  rigid  forms  of 
artificial  system. 

A  great  curiosity  is  in  the  form  of  a  willow  made  of 
iron,  but  so  perfect  an  imitation  of  a  natural  tree  that 
as  we  look  upon  it,  apparently  growing  out  of  the  soil, 
we  can  scarce  be  made  to  believe  that  it  is  a  product 
of  human  skill.  A  sly  touch  of  the  guide's  hand  upon 
a  hidden  spring,  and  every  leaf  is  made  to  send  forth  a 
delicate  spray  of  water,  the  tree  bursting  into  tears; 
literally  a  weeping  willow  ! 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

STRATFORD-ON-AYON. 

Stratford-on-Aycxn",  however  suggestive  of  beauty- 
its  name  may  be,  possesses  no  other  attraction  to  its 
visitors  than  its  association  with  and  memorials  of  the 
most  marvellous  poet  and  dramatist  that  the  world  has 
ever  known. 

It  is  evening,  long  after  the  heavens  have  hung  out 
their  lights  to  guide  just  such  travellers  as  we,  that, 
alighting  from  the  car,  we  wend  our  way  to  the  "  inn," 
where  we  propose  to  u  take  our  ease"  for  the  night.  It 
is  with  almost  shame  that  the  next  morning  we  ac- 
knowledge ourselves  to  have  enjoyed  a  most  common- 
place sleep,  unvisited  by  dreams,  although  we  had 
thought  that  "  the  very  gods  would  show  us  a  vision" 
under  such  circumstances.  Within  a  few  steps  from  our 
inn  is  the  house  which  the  Fates  chose  to  be  the  birth- 
place of  a  genius  so  brilliant  that  its  light  has  dazzled 
the  world ;  of  a  poetic  fire  whose  glow  has  never  died 
out,  but  burns  still,  and  ever  will,  that  it  may  warm  the 
souls  of  all  posterity.  Awaking  from  our  prosaic  slum- 
bers, we  arise  the  next  morning  to  realize  the  longings 
264 


STB  A  TFOBD-  ON- A  VON  265 

of  years,  to  visit  the  haunts  of  the  boyhood  and  early 
manhood,  and — alas  !  the  terminus  of  all — the  grave  of 
Nature's  most  gifted  son.  Ah!  why  is  it  that  she  is 
so  prodigal  of  her  bounty  to  some  and  so  niggardly  to 
others  ?  Would  not  the  world  be  brighter  and  happier 
were  the  aspirations  measurably  attained,  of  those  who 
feel  themselves  beggars  in  intellect?  if  Nature's  stamp 
of  royalty  was  impressed  upon  their  brow  ;  their  intel- 
lect broadened,  expanded,  elevated ;  their  talent  com- 
manding in  its  sphere  and  regal  in  its  power?  It  is, 
we  know,  only  certain  souls  that  hunger  after  a  higher 
earthly  attainment ;  to  such,  having  a  fellow-feeling,  we 
would  say  that,  were  they  to  reach  the  stand-point  they 
now  long  for,  they  would  still  be  restless  in  their  desires ; 
their  ambition,  o'ervaulting  itself,  refusing  to  be  satis- 
fied with  any  earthly  development.  And  is  not  heaven 
made  more  inviting,  that  thei%e,  and  there  only,  will  be 
experienced,  if  not  the  absolute  fruition,  the  progressive 
condition,  which  must  satisfy  the  intensest  hunger  and 
thirst  of  our  spiritual  nature  ?  Here  the  seed  is  sown, 
and  in  some  cases,  as  in  his  whose  immortal  reputation 
we  have  come  to  honor,  the  tender  leaf,  ay,  even  the 
fragrant  blossom,  is  revealed  in  all  its  rich  luxuriance  to 
an  admiring  world.  But  'tis  reserved  for  the  garden 
of  Paradise,  with  its  ripening  influences  and  in  the  light 
and  warmth  of  the  Creator's  presence,  to  show  forth 
the  fruit  of  intellectual  and  spiritual  growth. 


266  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

The  house  in  which  Shakspeare  spent  the  latter 
years  of  his  life,  and  in  which  he  died,  has  been  ruth- 
lessly destroyed ;  but  the  humble,  even  mean,  little 
wooden  cottage  where  he  was  born,  with  its  lowly  roof, 
quaint  windows,  and  porched  door,  is  in  itself,  we  think, 
a  pleading  relic  of  a  time  long  gone  by,  and  in  connec- 
tion with  its  associations  is  unsurpassed  in,  as  it  were,  a 
sanctified  charm.  We  knock,  and  are  promptly  admitted 
by  a  lady,  whose  refinement  and  education  vindicate  her 
claim  to  the  title.  She  and  her  sister, — both  elderly, — 
long  since  reduced  from  affluence  to  penury,  have  been 
wisely  chosen  and  appointed  to  the  delicate  task  of 
guiding  visitors  to  the  different  apartments  of  the 
house,  explaining  very  fully  and  lucidly  the  uses  of 
what  is  seen,  and  giving  information  not  to  be  found  in 
books,  but  gleaned  from  traditionary  sources  familiar 
to  the  town.  The  street  door  opens  into  the  family 
room,  within  whose  wide  fireplace  is  a  crude  stone  seat, 
upon  which  we  are  invited  to  sit  a  moment,  as  it  had 
been  the  favorite  lounging-place  of  the  boy  poet.  We 
accept  the  invitation,  trying  to  imagine  with  what 
dreamy  intentness  he  had  gazed  upon  the  glowing  em- 
bers, each  coal  invested  with  some  bright  fancy ;  wreird 
creations  springing  out  of  the  flickering  flames ;  spark- 
ling visions  of  the  future  dancing  before  him,  even  as 
the  sparks  flew  upward.  We  saunter  into  the  outer 
rooms,  and  then,  mounting  the  narrow,  steep  stairs,  are 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON.  267 

shown  the  room  where  the  great  spirit  was  ushered  into 
a  world  which  was,  ere  many  years,  to  resound  with 
his  praises.  We  step  softly  into  the  chamber  where  the 
tender  infant  soul  had  blossomed  into  life,  and  where 
the  wonderful  "  man-child"  had  first  blessed  his  mother's 
eyes.  We  stand  gazing  and  dreaming  ;  had  the  fortu- 
nate mother,  while  that  little  life  was  throbbing  beneath 
her  heart,  any  prescience  of  the  giant  powers  there  in 
embryo  ?  And  when  the  first  cry  gladdened  her  ears, 
had  she  a  thought  that  the  voice  would,  by  its  utter- 
ances, delight  and  astonish  all  Christendom  for  all  time  ? 
But  we  are  aroused  from  our  revery  by  an  invitation 
to  step  into  the  museum,  where  are  collected  many  me- 
mentos of  Shakspeare's  early  life.  Perhaps  what 
interests  us  most  is  a  heavy,  clumsy,  wooden  desk,  dis- 
figured by  all  sorts  of  boyish  hieroglyphics,  deep  punc- 
tures, and  rude  carvings;  showing  that  the  hands  of 
the  young  student  had  been  no  less  busy  than  the  brain 
teeming  with  the  wealth  of  thought  and  fancy.  This 
is  the  desk  used  by  Shakspeare  when  at  the  grammar- 
school,  which  is  subsequently  pointed  out  to  us ;  a  long, 
low,  rambling  building  situated  on  one  of  the  principal 
streets  of  the  town.  And  now,  after  visiting  the  house 
of  his  birth  and  home  of  his  early  years,  and  the  school 
where  "  the  young  idea  was  taught  to  shoot," — although 
it  took  a  wider  range  than  the  village  pedagogue  could 
follow, — and  the  site  of  the  house  which  he  built  upon 


268  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

his  final  return  to  the  home  of  his  youth,  we  saunter 
on  to  the  church  where  his  remains  have  been  allowed 
to  rest  in  peace.  It  is  beautifully  situated  on  the  banks 
of  the  Avon,  whose  murmur,  like  "  a  low,  perpetual 
hymn,"  seems  to  soothe  into  profounder  repose  the 
slumbering  dead.  Large  and  umbrageous  trees  form  a 
short  broad  avenue  to  the  church.  Their  branches, 
meeting  and  intermingling,  exclude  the  glare  of  the 
sun.  'Tis  fitting  that  Nature  should  cast  a  dim  light 
over  the  place,  for  there  is  a  sacred  tenderness  lurking 
in  sweet  shadows  which  comports  more  fully  with  the 
associations  of  such  a  scene  than  does  the  full  blaze  of 
a  radiant  sunlight.  In  it  there  is  a  sparkling  gladness ; 
but  we  find  the  quiet,  sequestered  shade  of  her  protect- 
ing foliage  harmonious  with  a  sad  or  dreamy  spirit. 

We  enter  the  church,  and  are  pleased  to  see  that  the 
morning  service  is  in  progress ;  the  curate  and  the  re- 
sponding clerk  kneel  side  by  side,  while  two  ladies  form 
the  congregation.  "We  noiselessly  steal  into  our  seats, 
and,  with  a  peculiar  pleasure,  join  in  the  prayers ;  not 
unconscious,  however,  that  the  bust  of  the  great  man, 
whose  tomb  we  have  come  to  visit,  is  beaming  benig- 
nantly  upon  us.  The  bust  is  placed  in  a  niche  in  the 
wall  above  the  marble  slab  inserted  in  the  pavement 
below;  on  which  are  inscribed  the  following  curious 
words,  said  to  have  been  written  by  Shakspeare  him- 
self: 


STRA  TFORD-ON-A  VON.  269 

"  Good  friend,  for  Jesus'  sake  forbeare 
To  dig  the  dust  enclosed  here. 
Blest  be  he  who  spares  these  stones, 
And  curst  be  he  who  moves  my  bones." 

His  wife  and  favorite  daughter  lie  beside  him,  their 
names  inscribed  upon  tablets  like  his  own.  We  linger 
long  upon  the  favored  spot,  bearing  away  with  us  a 
tiny  spray  of  the  vine  which  clings  lovingly  to  the 
outside  wall  of  the  church. 

It  is  to  be  supposed  that  a  man  who  would  make  of 
his  imaginary  characters  such  irresistible  lovers  must 
have  employed  in  his  own  behalf  the  delicate  skill  vof 
which  he  was  master.  There  was,  then,  an  episode  in 
his  life  whose  traces  we  are  inclined  to  explore.  The 
home  of  Anne  Hathaway,  who  became  the  wife  of  the 
poet,  is  situated  in  a  neighboring  parish.  "  You  must 
go  across  the  fields  a  long  way,"  is  the  direction  given 
us;  and  undaunted  we  wend  our  way  through  "green 
pastures  and  beside  still  waters,"  that  we  may  lay  a 
flower  on  the  altar  of  love.  And  perhaps — we 
think — we  are  treading  in  the  footsteps  of  the  lover 
who  has  so  eloquently  pictured  love  and  charm,  that 
bachelors  have  sighed  with  envy,  and  maidens  have 
wished  "  that  heaven  had  made  them  such  a  man." 

On  we  wander,  through  pastoral  scenes,  climbing 
over  many  a  stile,  until,  on  crossing  a  pretty  stream 
whose  babbling  waters  seem  to  Avhisper  something  of 


270  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

the  old-time  love,  we  find  ourselves  beside  a  little 
rustic  gate.  This  opens  into  the  garden  of  the  house 
with  which  is  associated  so  much  of  romance.  The 
cottage  is  in  itself  a  prominent  feature, — a  long,  low 
building,  whose  thatched  roof,  its  chimney  from  which 
smoke  is  wreathing,  its  little  windows,  and  tiny  porch, 
give  it  the  pleasing  aspect  of  a  cosy,  humble  home. 
We  are  admitted  by  an  old  woman  who  lives  in  the 
house,  and  who  claims  to  be  a  descendant  of  the  Hath- 
away family. 

On  entering  the  cottage  we  are  introduced  into  the 
family  room,  where  all  associations  are  concentrated, 
as  here  the  once  humble  lover,  but  afterwards  the 
illustrious  husband,  was  wont  to  be  entertained.  Be- 
side the  mammoth  fireplace  stands  a  plain,  rude, 
wooden  bench,  on  which,  in  all  probability,  the  wooing 
was  accomplished.  Its  original  position  had  been  on 
the  small  porch,  under  a  clambering  vine,  where  the 
moon, — the  favorite  luminary  of  lovers, — with  her 
pretty  young  sisters,  the  stars,  could,  with  their  tender 
light,  brighten  love's  sweet  dream.  But  so  successful 
have  been  the  attacks  made  upon  it  by  the  pocket- 
knives  of  tourists,  that,  to  secure  its  protection  from 
unscrupulous  collectors  of  souvenirs,  it  has  been  placed 
under  the  immediate  supervision  of  the  custodian  of 
the  cottage,  the  garrulous  old  lady  who  entertained  us. 
The  floor  of  the  room  is  composed  of  stone  flagging ; 


STRA TFORD  ON-A  VON.  271 

the  low  ceiling  of  large  beams;  the  capacious  cap- 
board  occupying  one  side  of  the  wall  affording  oppor- 
tunity for  the  display  of  such  ware  as  a  humble 
housekeeper  can  boast.  The  wainscoting  around  the 
room  is  such  as  is  rarely  seen  in  the  humbler  houses  of 
olden  times,  and  is  one  index  of  the  superiority  of  the 
circumstances  and  social  position  of  the  Hathaway 
family,  whose  homestead  this  cottage  is  proved  to  have 
been.  They  were  probably  farmers  of  the  better  class, 
as  papers  are  still  extant  showing  them  to  have  been 
well-to-do  land-owners  and  tillers  of  the  soil. 

The  book,  in  which  the  old  woman  requests  us  to 
inscribe  our  names,  contains  those  of  several  of.  the 
loved  bards  of  our  own  native  land,  who  had  come  to 
honor  the  memory  of  their  brother  poet.  She  proudly 
exhibits  an  ancient  Bible  in  which  the  names  of  several 
of  her  remote  ancestors  are  inscribed,  but  'tis  evident 
that  their  history  and  connection  with  the  poet's  wife 
are  difficult  to  define.  The  mists  of  time  have  obscured 
much  that  would  be  of  interest  now,  and  but  little  light 
can  be  brought  to  bear  upon  circumstances  connected 
with  the  early  life  and  domestic  experience  of  Shak- 
speare.  That  the  woman  of  his  choice  was  fair  and 
comely,  with  a  nature  correspondingly  attractive,  who 
that  is  familiar  with  his  conception  of  the  female  charac- 
ter can  doubt?  He  has  attributed  to  woman  weaknesses, 
'tis  true;  but  would  she  be  charming  without  them? 


272  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

Failings,  but  how  oft  u  they  lean  to  virtue's  side" ! 
We  all  know  that  some  of  his  feminine  creations  have 
become  immortalized;  shining,  as  they  do,  with  all  the 
virtues  which  give  lustre  to  womanhood;  with  those 
gifts  which  crown  her  intellect ;  those  attributes  that 
show  her  to  be  of  full,  rich  soul,  capable  of  unselfish 
devotion ;  unassailable  chastity ;  aifection  disinterested 
and  undying;  fortitude  unflinching;  dignity  serene 
and  lofty;  yet  with  a  humanity  so  sweet,  a  pliability 
so  winning,  a  temper  so  gentle,  that  the  author  must, 
Pygmalion-like,  have  become  enamored  of  his  own 
creation ;  delighted  with  his  success  in  representing 
womanhood  pure,  while  warmly  emotional ;  gifted,  yet 
unassuming;  dignified,  yet  sweetly  gracious;  strong, 
yet  lovely  in  her  weakness, — women  to  be  won ;  crea- 
tures "not  too  bright  or  good  for  human  nature's  daily 
food."  We  have  no  reason  to  believe,  however,  that 
the  mental  gifts  of  Anne  Hathaway  were  above  medi- 
ocrity; nor  need  we  wonder  at  this,  when  we  remember 
that  the  majority  of  men  of  genius  and  vast  intellectual 
endowment  have  married  women  of  very  ordinary 
calibre  and  attainments.  Perhaps  it  is  that  they  seek 
a  foil  in  the  indifferent,  and  sometimes  vapid,  intellect, 
dull  wit,  and  undeveloped  sentiment  of  their  wives, 
that  their  own  superior  minds  and  brilliant  parts  may 
shine  the  more  conspicuously.  Or  is  it,  that  longing — 
as  man's  heart  ever  does — for  home,  its  domestic  ties 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON.  273 

and  joys,  and  believing  that  a  high  development  of 
woman's  intellectual  nature  would  divert  her  thought 
and  absorb  her  time  to  the  detriment  of  "  household 
good,"  they  prefer  the  prosaic  worker  and  skilful  house- 
wife to  the  sympathetic,  literary  companion  ?  But  man 
is  not  driven  to  a  choice  of  this  alternative,  since  the 
happy  combination  is  often  found  of  a  woman  of  fine 
natural  powers  which  have  been  richly  cultivated,  with 
a  heart  gifted  with  a  capacity  for  the  enjoyment  of 
home-life. 

Is  not  such  a  woman  the  better  fitted  for  the  high 
and  holy  office  of  motherhood  ?  and  do  not  intelli- 
gence and  mental  culture  impart  a  greater  charm  to 
love,  helping  to  feed  the  flame  aglow  in  the  heart,  adding 
piquancy  and  stimulus  to  its  indulgence  ? 

A  well-stored  mind,  a  bright  and  sparkling  wit,  will 
greatly  aid  a  wife  in  beguiling  the  leisure  of  an  erudite 
husband;  and  while  her  literary  culture  enables  her  to 
be  a  sympathetic  companion  in  his  graver  pursuits,  her 
feminine  fancy  will,  like  the  sunshine,  play  around  his 
pathway,  brightening  and  amusing  his  lighter  hours. 

We  would  fain  believe  that  the  woman  of  Shak- 
speare's  choice  was  sufficiently  intelligent  to  appreciate 
the  marvellous  genius  of  her  husband,  and  that  while 
he  poured  into  her  ear  his  pretty  conceits,  almost  in- 
spired conceptions,  and  philosophic  conclusions,  she 
listened  with  proud  and  sympathetic  enthusiasm.     We 

13 


274  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

can  imagine  that  as  he  read  to  her  his  impassioned 
storied  love,  she  was  bcrne  along  on  the  overwhelming 
tide  of  his  eloquent  thought,  feeling  wooed  and  won 
again  with  the  heroine  of  his  play. 

Before  turning  away  from  the  humble  cottage,  we 
accept  the  invitation  to  drink  from  the  well,  whose  cool 
waters  had  so  often  quenched  the  thirst  of  the  poet- 
lover. 

As  we  wander  back  to  the  inn,  we  mentally  contem- 
plate the  character  and  ponder  upon  the  works  of  the 
great  man.  A  mind  so  comprehensive ;  a  wit  so  spark- 
ling ;  a  philosophy  so  profound ;  a  knowledge  of  the 
human  heart  so  searching,  so  intuitive,  that  it  would 
seem  he  had  discovered  the  most  secret  springs  of 
action,  the  subtlest  sources  of  human  feeling;  di- 
vining all  those  mysteries  of  the  soul  which,  to  other 
minds,  have  been  past  finding  out.  With  what  vivid 
power  has  he  described  the  anguish  of  the  tortured 
soul;  the  frenzy  of  rage;  the  tumult  of  unholy  pas- 
sion ;  the  sweet,  tender  joys  of  an  innocent  love !  What 
exquisite  portrayals  of  all  that  is  lovely  and  feminine, 
and  how  powerful  his  delineations  of  the  grand  and 
heroic  in  the  masculine  character !  With  what  subtile 
skill  has  he  depicted  the  cringing  meanness  of  a  des- 
picable nature,  and  masterfully  described  all  the  varied 
phases  of  human  emotion  in  its  divinest  guises  and  in 
its  most  repulsive  forms ! 


S TRA  TFORD- ON  A  VON  275 

Reluctantly  we  bid  adieu  to  the  little  town  which  so 
proudly  guards  its  sacred  trust, — the  mouldering  dust, 
relics,  and  memorials  of  the  "sweet  bard  of  Avon," — 
assured  that  ever  after  we  shall,  with  even  keener  relish, 
enjoy  the  mental  feast  which  his  works  afford. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

CHESTER— THE     LAKE     REGION— A    REMARKABLE 

DRIVE. 

CHESTER. 

As  Chester,  England,  was  the  first  city  we  visited 
after  landing  at  Liverpool,  we  are  aware  that  an  ac- 
count of  it  is  rather  misplaced  here.  And  in  ignoring 
all  method  in  our  written  course  of  travel,  flitting  here 
and  there,  at  "  our  own  sweet  will,"  we  throw  our- 
selves upon  the  courtesy  of  our  readers,  upon  which  we 
are  conscious  of  drawing  heavily.  Indeed,  in  pleading 
guilty  to  the  charge  of  an  erratic  style,  we  trust  to 
receive  the  lenient  judgment  usually  awarded  to  the 
confessing  culprit ! 

We  have  during  the  past  twelve  days  thoroughly 
enjoyed  the  distinctive  beauty  and  grandeur  belonging 
to  the  ocean,  as  none  have  the  fullest  opportunity  of 
doing  but  "  those  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  great 
ships."  Watching  the  sunlight  flashing  upon  the  roll- 
ing waves ;  making  of  the  spray  a  rainbow,  and  of  the 

swelling  sea  a  kaleidoscope  of  color ;  our  eye  wander- 

276 


CHESTER.  277 

ing  to  the  distant  horizon,  where  great  vessels  like  our 
own  appear  "like  painted  ships  upon  a  painted  ocean." 
Near  and  far  the  vast  expanse  reveals  to  the  senses  in- 
fluences, at  times,  soothing  and  delightsome;  the  sky 
often  seeming  to  bend  lovingly  over  its  rival  beauty, 
the  ever-changing  sea;  and  at  others,  agitating,  in  their 
awful  sublimity  !  Having,  then,  enjoyed  the  varied 
moods  of  Nature  in  her  marine  domain,  whether  of 
calm,  as  on  an  unruffled  moonlight  night,  or  in  the 
majesty  of  her  wrath,  when  the  waves  are  turbulent 
and  the  sea-god  rages,  we  turn,  at  length,  with  yearn- 
ing desire,  towards  the  land.  There  the  youthful 
Spring,  which  during  our  voyage  has  burst  forth  from 
her  thraldom, — so  long  detained  by  the  icy  grip  of 
Winter, — is  now  displaying  her  tender  charms,  as  if  to 
give  to  the  stranger  a  sweet  welcome  to  the  green 
bowers  and  shady  lanes  of  Old  England. 

Crossing  the  ferry  and  taking  the  car,  we  soon  find 
ourselves  introduced  to  the  quaint  and  delightful  old 
cathedral  town  of  Chester.  Here  we  are  comfortably 
established  at  a  hotel,  in  a  room  whose  belongings  help 
us  to  realize  that  we  are  indeed  in  the  Old  World.  And 
what  wonder  if  to-night,  when  sleeping  in  the  anti- 
quated couch  whose  high  posts  and  heavy  hangings 
remind  us  of  the  beds  associated  with  our  grandparents' 
repose,  we  should  dream  of  times  when  our  ancestors 
slept  their  innocent  sleep  on  just  such  elevated  thrones, 


278  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

concealed  from  all  vulgar  gaze  by  just  such  enfolding 
draperies ! 

But  the  sun  is  setting,  and  we  hasten  to  enjoy  a  walk 
upon  the  ramparts  of  the  old  city.  It  is  encircled 
by  a  wall  on  whose  top  two  persons  can  walk  abreast. 
Being  considerably  elevated  above  the  level  of  the 
town,  it  permits  us  to  enjoy  a  view  of  wide  extent. 
The  trees,  and  the  shrubbery  which  line  the  walk,  are  in 
full  leaf  and  blossom;  the  landscape,  "moist,  bright, 
and  green,"  smiles  around  us ;  the  air  is  vocal  with  the 
glad  song  of  birds,  and  perfumed  with  the  breath  of 
the  prevailing  verdure.  Never  has  Nature  seemed  so 
rich.  We  have  been  so  long  secluded  from  her  green 
fields  and  gardens,  looking  only  upon  "  water,  water 
everywhere,"  that  now,  when  surrounded  by  her 
abounding  treasures  of  bursting  bud  and  leafy  tree, 
and  by  the  birds  who  seem  wanton  in  their  gladness, 
our  spirits  catch  the  universal  joyousness. 

What  a  memorable  walk !  made  delightful  not  only 
by  the  display  of  Nature's  lavish  beauty,  but  of  ancient 
towers,  arches,  and  various  relics  of  the  distant  past, 
and  buildings  of  architectural  quaintness  which  greatly 
please  the  fresh  eyes  of  the  American  travellers. 

The  Cathedral,  which  gives  fame  to  this  olden  town, 
affords  material  for  prolonged  study.  The  exquisite 
wood-carving  in  the  choir  is  said  to  be  the  finest  in 
England.     The  windows  of  the  "  Lady  Chapel,"  which 


A  REMARKABLE  DRIVE.  279 

are  modern,  are  very  beautiful,  while  the  monuments 
and  tablets  are  very  curious.  We  wander  into  the 
chancel,  where  the  morning  service  is  being  very  im- 
pressively sung  by  youthful  choristers.  How  solemn 
and  sacred  are  tli3  moments  thus  spent  within  the  walls 
consecrated  a  thousand  years  ago !  How  many  voices 
have  here  been  raised  and  responses  given  by  those  who 
have  for  many  hundred  years  past  been  chanting  the 
Saviour's  name  in  heaven ! 

We  saunter  through  the  cloisters,  peer  into  dark  and 
sepulchral  recesses,  and,  leaving  reluctantly  the  ancient 
place,  turn  many  a  backward  glance. 

The  ruins  of  St.  John's  Chapel,  in  another  part  of 
the  town,  are  beautifully  picturesque,  draped  and  fes- 
tooned by  luxuriant  and  graceful  vines.  How  almost 
supernaturally  chaste  seem  such  ruins  by  moonlight! 
and  how  happily  has  Madame  de  Stael  declared  that 
"  the  sun  should  shine  on  festivals,  but  the  moon  is  the 
light  for  ruins" ! 

A   REMARKABLE   DRIVE. 

Not  a  remarkable  drive  because  it  is  of  John-Gilpin- 
like  speed,  or  that  it  has  the  supernatural  character  of 
Tarn  O'Shanter's  immortal  ride,  but  because  of  its 
being  amid  scenery  famed  for  its  beauty,  and  that 
within  its  limits  are  to  be  seen  the  homes  of  some  of 
the  most  celebrated  of  England's  great  poets. 


280  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

Taking  outside  seats  on  the  coach  at  Windermere, 
we  drive  through  a  beautiful  country,  ofttimes  obtain- 
ing glimpses  of  the  large,  fine  lake  of  Windermere,  on 
whose  broad  surface  we  long  to  sail.  What  indeed  can 
be  prettier  than  a  sheet  of  smooth  water  on  a  summer- 
like day,  when  the  soft  breezes  kiss  it  into  ripples, 
which  glide  over  the  surface  like  the  smiles  which 
flit  over  the  face  of  a  sleeping  babe  as  it  dreams — ah, 
who  knows  of  what  ?  We  have  often  wondered  how 
any  one  could  associate  monotony  with  water  in  its 
varied  forms  of  ocean,  lake,  and  river.  In  the  first 
there  is  a  grandeur,  an  awful  sublimity,  which  suggests 
eternity  in  its  mystery  and  vastness.  For  wmo  can 
fathom  the  depths  of  the  ocean,  or  measure  its  re- 
sources, or  by  human  vision  define  its  limits?  Is  it 
invested  with  a  soul,  that  in  its  overwhelming  wrath 
it  seems  to  summon  ours  to  a  dread  tribunal?  Or 
with  a  spirit,  that  appeals  at  times  in  gentlest  mur- 
murs to  our  finest  sensibilities?  w7hen  our  aesthetic 
nature  awakens  to  enthusiasm,  as  the  heavenly  artist 
paints  on  the  broad  canvas,  in  colors  that  rival  the 
rainbow  and  vie  with  the  sunset.  Oft  have  we  watched 
these  colors,  the  more  beautiful  that  they  glide  past 
in  rapid  succession,  green,  blue,  golden,  and  silvery. 
And  then  the  music  of  the  sea.  Nature's  organ,  whose 
deepest  sweep  of  sound  is  soul-stirring,  whose  flute- 
like   airs    are    clear    and    high,   and    again   a   grand 


A  REMARKABLE  DRIVE.  281 

seolian  harp,  whose  breathings  are  of  almost  celestial 
melody. 

A  river,  although  unlike  the  majestic  ocean  or  placid 
lake,  is  full  of  beauty,  graceful  in  its  flow,  and  varied 
in  its  meanderings ;  forming  a  silvery  fringe  to  flower- 
ing meadows,  .and  making  their  banks  so  fresh  and 
moist  as  to  coax  into  bloom  the  "  wild  thyme,"  the 
modest  daisy,  the  yellow  primrose,  and  the  forget-me- 
nots,  which  love  the  dewy  moisture  of  the  "river's 
brim."  How  coquettish  seems  the  gliding  stream,  as 
stealing  through  tangled  wildwoods  it  flashes  into 
the  broad  sunlight  and  before  the  open  vision,  anon 
stealing  into  the  quiet  shade  of  overhanging  branches 
and  drooping  vines  to  peep  forth  below  at  some  unex- 
pected spot.  Gradually  broadening  and  expanding 
into  statelier  beauty,  it  changes  its  youthful  proportions 
and  maiden  coyness  to  assume  the  dignity  of  an  open, 
flowing,  and  grand  river. 

The  "Lake  District"  of  England  is  almost  unsur- 
passed in  beauty,  for  not  only  do  the  lakes  display  their 
bright  mirrored  charms,  but  the  whole  landscape  is 
graceful  with  "  hills  and  dales  and  leafy  woods." 
Nature,  in  her  sweetest  mood,  has  lavished  with  an 
exceptional  prodigality  her  treasures  of  water  and 
meadow,  hill  and  valley.  Our  horses,  even,  seem  in- 
fected with  the  universal  buoyancy,  scarcely  giving  us 
time  to  throw  a  tender  glance  upon  a  vine-covered  cot- 

13* 


282  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

tage,  which  is  built  upon  an  eminence  above  the  road, 
bearing  the  apposite  name  of  "  Dove  Nest,"  the  former 
home  of  the  gentle,  womanly  poetess,  Mrs.  Hemans. 
We  can  imagine  her  poetic  muse  to  have  been  nurtured 
in  just  such  a  nest.  Like  a  fledgling,  it  never  soared 
to  lofty  heights,  where  it  might  roam  amid  heaven's 
bright  sunlight,  but  twittered  sweetly  and  tenderly 
amid  the  shadows.  Her  home,  embosomed  in  trees,  and 
protected  by  luxuriant  vines  from  the  inquisitive,  and 
yet  respectful,  gaze  of  the  passer-by,  was  such  an  asy- 
lum as  her  disappointed  but  chastened  spirit  would 
seek  and  love.  Like  a  wounded  "  dove,"  she  sought 
to  hide  her  sorrows  in  a  "nest"  built  high,  amid 
Nature's  soothing  influences. 

On  we  speed,  drinking  in  full  draughts  of  that 
pleasure  which,  although  intoxicating  in  its  exhilara- 
tion, is  innocent,  as  drawn  from  the  grand  resources 
of  Nature, — her  buoyant  sunshine ;  her  flashing  waters ; 
her  lofty  trees  and  exuberant  growth  of  bush,  hedge, 
and  flower. 

After  passing  through  Ambleside,  a  small,  insignifi- 
cant village,  Harriet  Martineau's  cottage  is  pointed 
out.  It  stands  near  the  highway,  and  is  so  enshrouded 
in  dense  foliage  as  to  look  gloomy  and  forbidding,  a 
darkness  so  deep  as  to  symbolize  that  of  her  spiritual 
belief.  A  mile  and  a  half  farther,  a  little  apart  from 
the  main  road,  is  Bydal  Mount,  the  home  of  Words- 


A  REMARKABLE  DRIVE.  283 

worth,  one  of  Nature's  grandest  interpreters.  The 
house,  having  been  rebuilt  since  his  death,  has  lost 
much  of  its  attraction  to  the  admirer  of  the  pasto- 
ral poet.  Near  by  is  .Rydal  Lake,  the  smallest  of 
the  district,  being  only  a  mile  long  and  one-third  of  a 
mile  broad.  The  road,  half  encircling  the  lake,  soon 
brings  us  to  the  humble  home  of  the  poet  Coleridge ; 
a  low,  mean  cottage,  affording  an  illustration  of  the 
fact  that  where  Nature  is  most  prodigal  of  her  mental 
endowments,  Providence  is  often  the  most  parsimo- 
nious in  the  bestowal  of  her  temporal  gifts.  We 
should  think  that  the  poetic  muse,  a  fickle  goddess, 
would  have  fled  from  such  a  haunt,  and  chosen  rather 
to  meet  her  votary  outside  of  his  dreary  walls,  in  Na- 
ture's grand  audience-chamber,  under  the  blue  sky, 
more  beautiful  than  any  frescoed  ceiling,  and  within 
the  walls  of  her  noble  hills,  with  carpet  of  velvety 
green,  and  mirrored  lakes  reflecting  beauty  all  around. 

A  little  farther,  and  we  are  surprised  by  the  driver 
turning  to  us  and  abruptly  saying,  "  Shut  your  eyes, 
and  don't  open  them  until  I  tell  you."  Instinctively 
we  obey,  and  after  whisking  around  a  corner  we  are 
relieved  by  his  permission,  given  in  triumphant  tone, 
to  "look  now." 

Ah,  it  is  indeed  a  scene  to  dazzle  our  eyes !  The 
sun  seems  to  have  taken  on  new  glory,  lighting  up  the 
distant  hill- tops,  and  making  the  trembling  bosom  of 


284  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

the  beautiful  lake  Grasmere  to  shimmer  and  sparkle 
as  with  diamonds,  giving  a  tenderer  shade  of  green  to 
vegetation  and  foliage,  throwing  soft  shadows,  on  the 
mountain  slopes,  and  affording  bright  glimpses  of 
sweet  valleys.  A  thrill  penetrates  our  being  as  the 
glorious  view  bursts  upon  our  vision. 

Here,  nestling  beneath  a  towering  hill, — "Helm 
Crag," — is  the  little  village  of  Grasmere,  in  whose 
graveyard  the  poets  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth  lie 
buried.  We  linger  long  over  the  graves  marked  by 
simple  tablets.  Death  has  not  separated  those  who 
were  neighbors  and  friends  while  living,  and  who  now 
lie  very  near  to  each  other  in  the  little  graveyard 
under  the  hills.  A  small  stream  flows  gently  by  their 
graves,  and  large  trees  shade  the  spot.  We  think  it 
eminently  fitting  that  Wordsworth,  the  lover  of  Na- 
ture and  her  eloquent  disciple,  should  repose  now  in 
her  bosom — and  not  in  a  stately  mausoleum — by  her 
murmuring  waters,  and  beneath  the  green  shelter  of 
her  wide-spreading  trees,  where  the  birds  trill  their 
morning  song.  And  Nature,  with  her  numberless 
voices,  chants  her  vespers  over  him  whose  ears  were 
once  so  ready  to  catch  her  faintest  whispers.  Caverns, 
lakes,  and  woods 

"  "Were  unto  him  companionship." 
What  wonder  that  an  unsurpassed  simplicity  and 


A  REMARKABLE  DRIVE.  285 

purity  should  characterize  the  emanations  of  a  soul 
born,  developed,  nurtured,  and  matured  amid  such 
natural  beauty  and  grandeur  as  surrounded  his  home  ! 
Could  there  be  a  "  soul  so  dead/'  a  tongue  so  mute,  that 
would  not  be  made  to  blossom  into  tender  sentiment? 
and  if  poesy  slumbered  in  its  nature,  would  it  not 
waken  to  warble  with  bird -like  sweetness  when  wooed 
by  such  irresistible  charm  as  ministered  to  his  senses  ? 

Within  the  graveyard  is  the  exceedingly  quaint  old 
church  where  Wordsworth  worshipped.  Over  his 
family  pew  a  white  marble  tablet  is  inserted,  bearing 
his  chiselled  portrait. 

Mounting  again  to  the  top  of  the  lumbering  coach, 
we  start  anew,  but  the  prospect  soon  changes,  as  we 
ascend  Dun  mail  Pass,  from  the  lovely  and  picturesque 
to  the  most  desolate,  wild,  and  dreary.  The  ascent  is 
seven  hundred  feet,  and,  although  from  its  summit  we 
enjoy  the  enchanting  view  obtained  by  looking  back 
upon  the  pretty  villages  of  the  plain,  their  bulwarks 
of  hills,  sheltered  valleys  and  gleaming  lakes,  yet  sur- 
rounded as  we  now  are  by  dearth  and  barrenness,  we 
gladly  near  the  terminus  of  the  descent.  Derwentwater 
Lake  and  the  village  of  Keswick,  soon  greeting  and 
delighting  our  eyes,  afford  us  one  of  the  finest  views  of 
the  long  and  famous  drive. 

In  Keswick  the  poet  Sou  they  lived  from  1803  to 
1843,  the  date  of  his  death.     It  is  a  singular  fact  that 


286  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

within  the  radius  of  half  a  day's  ride,  from  Windermere 
to  Keswick,  we  pass  the  former  homes  of  four  poets, 
whose  names  fame  has  made  as  "familiar  as  house- 
hold words"  to  the  English-speaking  race;  a  galaxy 
of  brilliant  lights  which  have  illuminated  the  world's 
literature  and  have  brightened  hearts  and  homes.  For 
through  the  highest  poetic  thought  and  its  silvery 
speech,  the  mind  is  cultured ;  the  sentiment  elevated ; 
the  best  and  finest  feelings  of  the  heart  developed ;  a 
sweet  faith  and  purity  inculcated,  and  religion  exalted ; 
led  as  we  are  through  the  pure  teachings  of  the  true 
poet — Nature's  own  child — to  look  through  "Nature 
up  to  Nature's  God." 

The  soul,  to  whom  poetry,  grand  in  conception,  pure 
in  thought,  and  exalted  in  tone,  appeals  in  vain ;  that 
refuses  to  recognize  its  beauty  and  to  be  influenced 
through  its  charm,  is  like  him  "  who  has  no  music  in 
his  soul,"  fit  for  "  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils." 

At  Keswick  we  sleep  and  dream  of  our  enjoyment, 
which,  although  but  the  experience  of  a  day,  will,  by 
the  blessed  power  of  memory,  prove  a  "joy  forever." 


CHAPTER    XX. 

EDINBURGH— THE    TROSACHS— SCOTTISH    LAKES 
—GLASGOW. 

EDINBURGH. 

Edinburgh  is  a  queenly  city  !  From  the  peculiar- 
ity of  its  situation,  being  enthroned  on  three  ridges,  it 
affords,  from  some  points,  grand  and  extensive  pros- 
pects. Like  many  European  cities,  it  offers  the  two 
phases  of  the  old  and  the  new,  and,  although  the  mod- 
ern is  the  finest  and  most  imposing,  yet  the  old  por- 
tions of  the  city,  with  their  narrow  streets,  crowded 
buildings,  dark,  dingy,  and  uninviting  though  they  be, 
possess  the  greater  attraction,  rich  as  these  localities 
always  are  in  historic  associations. 

Alighting  from  the  train,  we  mount  many  steps,  and 
suddenly  find  ourselves  in  a  street,  properly  named 
Prince.  Broad  and  fine  it  is.  Here,  surrounded  on 
each  side  by  a  sloping  green,  planted  with  tree  and 
shrub,  is  the  very  elegant  monument  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  "Scotia's  darling  son."  It  is  of  white  marble, 
two  hundred  feet  high.    Seated  within  the  arches,  he  is 

287 


288  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

represented  in  life-size,  with  a  book  in  his  hand  and  his 
loved  dog  by  his  side.  In  the  niches  are  statues  of  the 
most  prominent  characters  in  his  works.  The  most  con- 
spicuous object  in  this  beautiful  city  is  the  Castle.  It  is 
built  upon  the  summit  of  a  rock  upon  the  central  ridge 
of  the  city,  and  occupies,  with  its  works,  an  area  of 
seven  acres,  with  capacity  to  accommodate  two  hundred 
persons.  On  the  esplanade  is  to  be  seen  the  celebrated 
gun,  "  Mons  Meg,"  purported  to  have  been  forged  in 
Flanders  in  1486.  In  one  apartment  of  the  castle  the 
regalia  of  Scotland  are  displayed.  They  were  discov- 
ered in  1818  secreted  in  a  chest,  which  being  opened 
by  royal  command  was  found  to  contain  this  national 
treasure.  The  embroidered  velvet,  faded  and  dingy,  is 
yet  resplendent  with  jewels.  Another  room  is  shown, 
in  which  James  VI.,  afterwards  King  of  England,  was 
born.  The  castle  is  a  magnificent  feature  of  the  beau- 
tiful landscape.  In  every  direction  it  may  be  seen 
looming  up  in  its  grandeur,  as  immutable  as  the  rock 
on  which  it  is  built,  and  as  grand  as  Time,  with  which 
it  seems  coeval.  Feeling,  after  leaving  it,  irresistibly  in- 
clined again  and  again  to  turn  and  gaze  upon  it,  we  are 
reminded  of  Lot's  wife,  and  think  that  if  in  the  hapless 
city  of  Sodom  there  had  been  any  such  stupendous 
work  of  human  skill,  all  the  accessories  of  nature  add- 
ing to  its  splendid  dignity,  we  should  feel  renewed  pity 
for  the  unhappy  consequences  of  her  disobedience. 


EDINBURGH.  289 

A  visit  to  Holyrood  Palace,  in  another  part  of  the 
city,  proves  very  gratifying.  It  is  teeming  with  asso- 
ciations with  the  unhappy  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots.  The 
apartments  most  intimately  connected  with  her  expe- 
rience are  astonishingly  small,  and  seem  sepulchral  in 
gloom.  The  bedsteads  are  exceedingly  ancient  in  style, 
and,  being  hung  and  covered  with  dingy,  tattered 
drapery,  look  anything  but  inviting  even  to  the  weary 
traveller.  We  are  shown  the  room  where  Rizzio,  while 
at  supper  with  the  Queen  and  several  of  her  ladies,  was 
seized  and  murdered  while  clinging  to  her  royal  robes 
for  protection,  she  being  impotent  to  save.  The  guide, 
blessed  with  vision  unimpaired  or  imagination  in  vivid 
exercise,  insists  that  he  can  descry  on  the  wooden 
boards  of  the  floor  the  stains  of  the  blood  which 
flowed  from  the  fatal  wound  of  the  unfortunate  and 
perhaps  guilty  man.  But,  although  we  call  in  the  arti- 
ficial aid  of  glasses,  we  can  detect  no  traces  of  the  san- 
guinary deed.  As  the  guide  points  with  the  toe  of  his 
boot  to  the  fancied  spots,  we  remember  the  familiar 
scene  in  which  Lady  Macbeth  exclaims, — 

"  Yet  here's  a  spot ; 
*  #  *  *  #  * 

Out,  damned  spot !  out,  I  say  ! — one,  two." 

Passing  on  to  the  next  apartment,  we  see  more  of  the 
faded,  moth-eaten  hangings,  with  other  ancient  relics, 


290  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

all  symbolical  of  the  sadness  which  pervades  the  asso- 
ciation with  the  beautiful,  amiable,  unhappy  woman 
whose  frailties  we  pity,  while  we  condemn.  An  object 
which  holds  us  long  is  the  little  shrine  before  which 
she  had  been  accustomed  to  kneel.  Had  she  crimes  to 
confess  there,  or  were  her  misfortunes  due  more  to 
weakness  of  heart  than  to  depravity  of  nature  ?  Were 
this  papistical  shrine  gifted  with  language,  it  might 
reveal  much  that  is  now  enshrouded  in  the  darkness  of 
suspicion,  perhaps  removing  the  cloud  which  lowers 
over  her  conjugal  relations.  Opening  into  this  sleep- 
ing-apartment is  the  smallest  of  dining-rooms,  where 
she  and  her  unfortunate  husband,  Lord  Darnley,  were 
in  the  habit  of  dining;  a  door  leading  into  the  boudoir 
discovers  a  close  private  staircase,  which  gave  him  in- 
gress to  her  apartments.  Connected  with  Holyrood  Pal- 
ace, which  for  some  centuries  was  occupied  by  the  kings 
of  Scotland,  is  the  abbey  founded  by  David  I.  It  was 
in  its  chapel  that  Queen  Mary  and  Lord  Darnley  were 
married.     It  is  now  in  ruins,  only  its  walls  standing. 

Holyrood  Castle  is  built  upon  a  low  plain,  Salis- 
bury Crags  and  Arthur's  Seat  towering  above  it  to  the 
south.  The  Queen's  drive,  which  encircles  the  two, 
offers  views  such  as  are  rarely  enjoyed.  The  ascent  is 
gradual,  the  enthusiasm  increasing  as  the  road  winds 
higher  and  higher  on  the  elevated  slopes.  The  pros- 
pect is  not  only  very  extensive,  but  most  picturesquely 


EDINBURGH.  291 

varied.  We  see  the  sparkling  waters  of  the  Firth  of 
Forth  in  the  distance;  arable  plains  stretching  out 
before  us,  dense  woods  relieving  their  monotony ;  the 
thickly-populated  city  in  its  splendor  and  glory ;  church 
steeples  flashing  in  the  sunlight;  country  residences, 
with  noble  lawns ;  little  cottages  with  rural  surround- 
ings ;  the  castle  in  its  majestic  strength ;  and  the  un- 
pretending Holyrood  Palace.  The  precipitous  rocky 
sides  of  the  crags  remind  us  of  the  Palisades  on  our 
noble  Hudson.  The  drive  includes  the  view  of  many 
sites  connected  with  Scott's  "Heart  of  Mid-Lothian." 
As  we  begin  the  ascent  our  attention  is  directed  to  the 
spot  where  Jeanie  Deans  is  described  as  meeting 
Robertson.  Farther  on  is  her  humble  cottage  home, 
and  near  to  it  the  Laird's  house,  where  her  sister 
Effie  sought  counsel  before  beginning  her  pilgrimage 
to  London. 

A  very  ancient-looking  building  in  the  old  part  of 
the  city  is  pointed  out  as  having  been  the  home  of 
the  old  Reformer,  John  Knox.  The  house  is  black- 
ened with  age,  while  the  fame  of  the  good  man,  who 
once  lived  and  preached  in  it,  grows  brighter  and 
purer  with  time.  A  bow  window  on  the  corner  of  the 
house  formed  on  many  occasions  his  pulpit,  the  audi- 
ence standing  in  the  street  below.  The  church  of  St. 
Giles,  said  to  be  about  one  thousand  years  old,  was  the 
scene  of  his  labors,  the  old  pulpit  which  he  occupied 


292  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

there,  being  shown  now  as  a  sacred  relic  in  the  Royal 
Institution. 

THE   TROSACHS   AND   SCOTTISH   LAKES. 

Taking  coach  at  Callender,  towards  the  close  of  a 
damp,  murky  afternoon,  we  pass  through  a  region 
made  classic  by  Scott's  "  Lady  of  the  Lake."  Ar- 
riving at  the  Fall  of  Gartchonzie,  where  the  Ven- 
nacher,  leaping  over  rocks,  rushes  down  to  Coilantogla 
Ford,  we  remember  it  was  here  that  Roderick  Dhu 
promised  to  escort  Fitz- James 

"As  far  as  Coilantogle  Ford," 

and  where,  upon  arriving,  he  defied  him  to  a  mortal 
combat : 

"  See,  here  all  vantageless  I  stand, 
Armed  like  thyself  with  single  hrand  ; 
For  this  is  Coilantogle  Ford, 
And  thou  must  keep  thee  with  thy  sword." 

Then  comes  Loch  Vennacher,  five  miles  long  and 
one  and  a  half  miles  wide.  Farther  on  is  the  spot 
where  the  Alpine  clan  lay  concealed  until  Roderick 
Dhu's  whistle  summoned  them  : 

"Instant  through  copse  and  heath  arose 
Bonnets  and  spears  and  hended  hows. 
On  right,  on  left,  ahove,  below, 
Sprung  up  at  once  the  lurking  foe ; 


THE  SCOTTISH  LAKES.  293 

From  shingles  gray  their  lances  start, 
The  bracken  bush  sends  forth  the  dart, 
The  rushes  and  the  willow  wand 
Are  bristling  into  axe  and  brand, 
And  every  tuft  of  broom  gives  life 
To  plaided  warrior  armed  for  strife." 

Ere  long,  we  see,  on  the  left,  Benvenue;  and  oppo- 
site, Ben- An ;  between  them  lies  the  Pass  of  the 
Trosachs. 

From  earliest  childhood,  when  enthusiastically  en- 
joying that  inimitable  book,  the  "Lights  and  Shadows 
of  Scottish  Life,"  our  eyes  have  longed  to  wander  over 
heathery  moors  and  to  look  upon  a  kirk  and  a  manse. 
The  latter  word  has  always  seemed  redolent  with  the 
sweet  fragrance  of  domestic,  pious  life;  simple,  per- 
haps humble,  and  yet  possessing  all  those  elements 
which  help  to  constitute  such  a  home  as  man  hopes 
for,  woman  dreams  of,  and  which  is  sometimes  re- 
alized. 

As  we  ride  on  in  the  coach,  we  fall  into  conversa- 
tion with  its  only  gentleman  passenger,  listening  with 
pleasure  to  his  explanations  of  the  scenes  through 
which  we  are  passing,  familiar  to  him,  as  his  home, 
he  remarks,  is  situated  in  their  midst.  He  verifies  the 
character  of  a  true  Scotchman;  intelligent,  practical, 
with  that  sound  good  sense  which  is  thought  to  be  a 
rare  quality  in  the  world,  but  of  which  the  Scotch 


294  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

character  has  a  full  share.  Of  powerful,  brawny 
frame,  gentlemanly  mien,  and  very  plain  attire,  we 
are  at  a  loss  with  what  position  or  profession  to  invest 
him,  his  remarks  giving  us  no  clue.  Chancing,  how- 
ever, to  allude  to  our  desire  to  see  a  "  manse,"  he 
smilingly  rejoins,  "  I  can  soon  gratify  your  wish,  as 
my  own  is  now  not  far  distant." 

And  so  it  is,  that  our  life-long  desire  is  gratified;  for 
peering  through  the  gathering  shadows  of  the  twilight 
we  can  see,  from  amid  a  cluster  of  trees,  the  smoke 
curling,  showing  that  a  house  is  nigh.  The  coach 
stops  before  a  pretty,  low,  rural  cottage ;  its  windows, 
festooned  with  vines,  look  out  upon  a  small  green 
lawn,  and,  as  the  curtains  are  drawn,  we  can  see  the 

"  Ingle  blinking  bonnily, 
The  clean  hearthstane,  his  thriftie  wifie's  smile;" 

and  flocking  down  the  broad  pathway  towards  the  gate, 
"  the  expectant  wee  things ;"  and  the  maids,  ready  to 
give  their  respectful  greeting.  Then  comes  the  cour- 
teous "  good-night"  of  the  blessed  man,  the  closing  of 
the  door,  and  the  dropping  of  the  curtains, — 

"  Leaving  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me." 
A  few  moments'  rapid  driving  brings  us  to  the  hotel 


THE  SCOTTISH  LAKES.  295 

of   the   Trosachs,   within   whose   pleasant,   hospitable 
walls  we  are  established  for  the  night. 

The  next  morning,  after  a  short  drive  through  a 
glen,  truly  picturesque  in  the  natural  wildness  of  its 
surroundings,  we  arrive  at  the  pier,  where  a  small 
steamboat  is  waiting  to  convey  us  over  Loch  Kat- 
rine. Soon  we  pass  a  little  wooded  island,  which  is 
the  veritable  "  Ellen's  Isle"  of  Scott's  poem  ;  and  here 
we  will  borrow  his  description  of  the  locality : 

"  Where  gleaming  with  the  setting  sun, 
One  burnished  sheet  of  living  gold, 
Loch  Katrine  lay  beneath  him  rolled, 
In  all  her  length  far- winding  lay, 
"With  promontory,  creek,  and  bay; 
And  islands  that  empurpled  bright 
Floated  amid  the  livelier  light ; 
And  mountains,  that  like  giants  stand 
To  sentinel  enchanted  land. 
High  on  the  south  huge  Benvenue 
Down  on  the  lake  in  masses  threw 
Crags,  knolls,  and  mounds,  confusedly  hurled, 
The  fragments  of  an  earlier  world ; 
A  wildering  forest  feathered  o'er 
His  ruined  sides  and  summit  hoar, 
"While  on  the  north,  through  middle  air, 
Ben-An  heaved  high  his  forehead  bare." 

Opposite  "  Ellen's  Isle,"  at  the  foot  of  Benvenue,  is 
the  opening  of  the  passage  that  leads  to  the  Goblin's 


296  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

Cave.  This  is  a  large  space  within  the  mountain, 
whose  entrance  is  now  closed  by  fragments  of  rocks, 
which  have  been  hurled  from  above,  and  by  the  spon- 
taneous growth  of  trees  and  shrubs.  It  was  within 
this  natural  shelter  that  Ellen's  father  secreted  her 
from  Roderick  Dhu,  and  where  she  warbled  her 
"  ano-el  hvmn." 

Loch  Katrine  is  so  far  different  from  Loch  Lomond 
as  to  forbid  any  comparison.  It  is  grandly  wild  and 
picturesque;  hedged  in  by  formidable  mountains,  tow- 
ering crags,  rocks,  and  foliage. 

Nature,  who,  like  other  dames,  seems  subject  to 
variations  of  moods,  was  in  her  roughest  when  she 
breathed  rugged  life  into  this  region ;  but  we  would 
not  have  her  exempt  from  the  mighty  power  of  her 
turbulence,  for  she  is  most  grand  when  she  crowns  the 
landscape  with  ponderous  mountains,  and  lifts  up  her 
forms  of  praise  in  the  lofty  hill-tops,  and  often  most 
eloquent  when  she  gives  expression  to  her  wild  whims 
and  erratic  fancies,  by  scattering  in  great  confusion 
bristling  crags,  scraggy,  precipitous  slopes,  and  deep 
ravines. 

Taking  coach  again  at  the  terminus  of  the  Loch,  we 
ride  five  miles  to  Inversnaid,  through  an  elevated  coun- 
try, barren,  dreary,  and  monotonous.  Much  of  its  sur- 
face is  covered  by  the  modest  heather,  Scotland's  native 
plant.     By  the  by,  what  a  dreary  scene  does  a  Scottish 


THE  SCOTTISH  LAKES.  297 

moor  usually  present !  There  is  something  to  the  mind 
of  sensibility  inexpressibly  depressing  in  this  extensive, 
unvaried  surface  of  ground,  carpeted  with  one  monot- 
onous color,  which  appears  en  masse  dingy,  or,  at  least, 
not  bright  and  gay,  as  the  lively  green  on  our  West- 
ern prairies,  where  the  pretty  grass  is  relieved  by  num- 
berless flowers  of  varied  color. 

At  Iuversnaid  we  hasten  to  climb  to  the  little  bridge 
over  the  pretty,  rushing,  impetuous  waterfall,  which  is 
an  enjoyable  sight  in  itself,  but  is  made  doubly  attract- 
ive by  being  associated  with  Wordsworth's  winsome 
creation,  "  The  Highland  Girl." 

The  sky  so  far,  on  this  memorable  day,  has  been 
happily  adapted  to  the  scenes  through  which  we  have 
passed ;  for  rugged  aspects,  dark  gorges,  and  frowning 
cliffs  should  be  viewed  through  a  gloomy,  clouded  at- 
mosphere, as  on  stern  features  and  lowering  brows  a 
bright,  sunny  smile  would  seem  incongruous.  Now, 
as  we  are  to  be  introduced  to  the  lovely  scenes  of  Loch 
Lomond,  the  Queen  of  the  Scottish  Lakes,  the  sunlight, 
that  grand  revealer  of  the  milder  types  of  natural 
beauty,  bursts  forth  in  its  glory,  illuminating  gentle, 
grassy  slopes,  crowning  with  silvery  light  the  hill- 
tops, and  beaming  on  the  waters,  which  return  the 
smile;  brightening,  too,  the  verdant  little  isles  which, 
reposing  on  the  ample  bosom  of  the  lake,  quench  their 

thirst  there,  even  as  the  babe,  while  slumbering  on 

14 


298  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

the  mother's  breast,  instinctively  imbibes  its  nourish- 
ment. 

As  the  lake  broadens  more  and  more,  discovering  to 
us  extended  views  of  wondrous  beauty,  infinitely  diver- 
sified, we  cease  to  exclaim,  but  are  silent  through  in- 
tensity of  enjoyment,  for  oftentimes,  when  the  heart  is 
most  affluent  in  feeling,  the  tongue  is  most  beggared  in 
expression. 

It  had  occurred  to  us  that  this  feast  of  the  senses 
might  be  followed  by  a  famine,  particularly  as  we  had 
been  led  to  expect  meagre  entertainment  in  Glasgow, 
the  next  scene  of  the  shifting  drama  of  travel ;  but  on 
reaching  our  hotel  here,  situated  on  George's  Square, 
we  find  our  first  impressions  very  agreeable  ones.  This 
square  is  embellished  by  many  monuments  and  statues 
of  great  men,  and  forms  a  fine  promenade.  In  a 
most  enjoyable  ride  around  and  through  the  city,  we 
find  its  parks  and  several  of  its  streets,  with  those 
portions  of  the  city  affording  residences  for  the  wealthy 
citizens,  worthy  of  any  city  and  most  satisfying  to  the 
stranger. 

The  splendor  of  the  University,  and  the  remarkable 
site  on  which  it  is  built,  make  it  as  imposing  an  edifice 
and  inviting  a  spot  as  we  have  seen  anywhere.  It 
occupies  an  eminence  from  which  an  unsurpassed  view 
of  the  city  is  obtained,  and  is  for  this  reason  alone  well 
worth  a  visit.     A  recent  munificent  gift  from  the  Mar- 


GLASGOW.  299 

quis  of  Bute  to  the  University  will  be  devoted  to  the 
erection  of  a  grand  hall,  to  be  called  by  his  name. 

A  fine  building  is  the  Royal  Exchange,  in  Queen 
Street,  the  architectural  ornamentation  of  the  sides  and 
the  really  elegant  portico  of  the  front  commanding 
universal  admiration. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ABBOTSFORD— MELROSE   ABBEY— CARLISLE. 
ABBOTSFORD. 

There  are  certain  intellectual  shrines  to  which  all 
cultured  persons  would  gladly  make  a  pilgrimage,  and 
it  is  not  strange  that  a  country  as  rich  as  Great  Britain 
in  science,  poetry,  and  prose,  should  possess  more  than 
one  Mecca  where  we  may  pay  our  worshipful  regard. 
To  the  enthusiastic  lover  of  literature  and  science  there 
is  great  danger  of  cherishing  an  idolatrous  admiration 
for  the  representatives  of  talent  and  genius,  failing  to 
look  beyond  these  merely  human  mental  lights  to  the 
Divine  Luminary  whose  dim  and  indistinct  reflection 
all  earthly  development  must  be,  however  grand  com- 
paratively. 

We  are  naturally  hero-worshippers,  and  if  excuse  can 
be  found  for  such  worship  'tis  when  we  strive  to  crown 
even  the  lifeless  brows  of  such  bards  and  men  as 
Homer,  Milton,  Shakspeare,  and  the  great,  revealers  of 
natural  and  mechanical  mysteries,  as  Newton,  Fulton, 
Stephenson,  Watt,  and  others,  with  the  wreath  of  fame 
so  deservedly  won  in  life. 
300 


ABBOTSFORD.  301 

With  our  mind  and  heart  in  full  sympathy  we  seek 
the  haunts  of  the  charming  poet  and  unequalled  novel- 
ist, Walter  Scott.  He  who  through  his  pen  can 
win  the  critical  appreciation  of  his  readers  appeals 
successfully,  at  the  same  time,  to  their  emotional 
natures,  as  we  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  for  hours  made 
"  rosy-fingered"  through  the  magic  of  a  writer's  thought 
and  fancy ;  life  thereby  cheated  of  many  a  weary 
moment,  sadness  and  sorrow  blunted,  and  sometimes 
forgotten  even,  through  the  intense  interest  excited  by 
the  graphic  portrayal  of  life's  brightest,  fairest  scenes. 
'Tis  with  eagerness,  then,  towards  the  close  of  a  gloomy 
autumn  day,  when^  the  skies  have  been  dim  and 
threatening  and  are  still  lowering  darkly  above  us, 
that  we  ride  from  Melrose  to  Abbotsford.  The  drive 
is  a  dreary  one,  through  a  desolate-looking  country. 
We  alight  at  the  head  of  a  short  lane  leading  to  the 
house  which  had  been  the  loved  home  of  a  man  whose 
mental  powers  were  worthy  of  a  palace  and  a  crown ; 
for  kings  and  queens  may  be  formed  of  ordinary 
human  mould,  but  such  an  intellect  as  his  has  few 
peers,  and  is  only  created  by  Divine  will.  We  look  with 
mournful  pleasure  upon  the  fine  house  which  had  cost 
its  owner  such  severe  mental  labor  to  secure,  remem- 
bering those  "  births  of  intellect"  which  were  the  rich 
fruit  of  a  mind  so  prolific  that  it  could  without  great 
mental   throes,  but   even  with   ease,  deliver   itself  of 


302  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

thoughts,  fancies,  and  sentiments  which  it  would  seem 
could  only  be  conceived,  if  at  all,  amid  conditions  of 
ease  and  luxurious  leisure.  It  is  indeed  only  the  mind 
of  richest  resources  and  profoimdest  power  that  could, 
with  such  felicity  and  rapidity,  throw  off  volume  after 
volume,  each  hailed  by  an  eager,  expectant  world  with 
unabated  delight. 

The  muse,  so  coy  and  reluctant,  and  so  difficult  to 
win  by  the  ordinary  writer,  who  must  court  inspiration 
and  seek  every  inviting  means  to  secure  it,  was  by 
Walter  Scott  never  summoned  in  vain,  but  was  always 
present  awaiting  his  behest. 

We  enter  an  open  side-door,  and  find  ourselves  in  an 
uncarpeted  antechamber,  where  is  a  huge  volume  in 
which  visitors  are  expected  to  inscribe  their  names. 
An  inner  door  presently  opens,  a  small  party  issues 
from  it,  and  we  are  invited  by  an  intelligent  woman 
to  wander  through  the  rooms  associated  with  the  liter- 
ary and  the  home  life  of  the  celebrated  man.  We 
follow  sadly,  the  twilight  harmonizing  with  our  feel- 
ings ;  the  house  is  dark  and  gloomy,  the  rooms  deserted  ; 
the  great  and  noble  spirit  that  once  inhabited  them  has 
passed  away,  and  their  brightness  faded  out  with  his 
life.  We  ascend  a  flight  of  steps  and  enter  a  room 
sacred  to  the  memory  of  the  great  author,  as  his 
sanctum  sanctorum.  A  small  room,  indeed  !  too  small 
to  have  contained  a  mind  whose  realm  of  fancy  was 


ABBOTSFORD.  303 

world-wide,  whose  breadth  of  vision  soared  infinitely 
beyond  the  four  walls  which  enclosed  his  bodily  pres- 
ence, creating  for  itself  scenes  too  fascinating  to  be 
suggested  by  aught  that  met  his  eye  as  it  roamed  over 
the  bounded  landscape.  One  large  window  supplies 
the  light,  looking  upon  a  contracted  but  pretty  flower- 
garden. 

An  open  fireplace,  its  glow  long  since  turned  to 
ashes ;  shelves  filled  with  books ;  a  narrow,  circling 
gallery,  with  a  flight  of  steps  leading  to  it  and  to  his 
private  chamber ;  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room  ;  a 
very  ample  leather-covered  chair  before  it,  compose 
the  furniture.  The  chair  is  worn,  and  the  table  shows 
traces  of  constant  use,  seeming  the  more  precious  for 
the  signs,  as  is  a  beloved  face,  whose  very  wrinkles 
become  dear  to  us.  Long  and  with  moistened  eyes  do 
we  gaze  on  these  relics  before  following  the  patient 
guide  into  the  noble,  well-stocked  library,  which  opens 
from  the  study.  It  is  said  to  be  enriched  with  twenty 
thousand  volumes,  and  among  the  most  interesting  are 
those  works  which  the  late  owner  contributed  from  his 
own  brain.  The  ceiling  of  this  room  is  elaborately 
carved.  The  dining-room  is  very  large,  its  ceiling  of 
carved  oak.  It  contains  many  pictures,  the  most  re- 
markable that  of  the  head  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  in 
a  charger,  painted  the  day  after  her  execution,  by 
Amias  Canrood. 


304  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

A  covered  case  in  this  room  is  filled  with  gifts  from 
crowned  heads  and  others,  and  with  several  relics  of 
Scott's  brother-poet,  Robert  Burns.  This  room,  whose 
broad,  low  window  looks  upon  the  river  Tweed,  as  it 
flows  by  at  the  foot  of  the  lawn,  is  the  one  in  which 
Scott  died,  having,  at  his  request,  been  brought  here 
that  he  might  rest  his  dying  gaze  upon  the  water  he 
loved  so  well,  his  life  flowing  out  peacefully,  his 
weary  spirit  lulled  into  sweet  repose  by  the  gentle 
ripple  of  the  ever-gliding  stream.  So,  borne  on  the 
waves  of  time,  whose  upheavals  had  agitated  and  dis- 
turbed his  later  years,  his  grand  spirit  was  launched 
upon  the  Ocean  of  Eternity,  his  splendid  powers  know- 
ing there  the  fullest  fruition. 

The  drawing-room,  furnished  in  ebony  and  contain- 
ing several  rich  and  rare  cabinets,  adjoins  a  long,  nar- 
row room,  filled,  as  is  the  hall,  with  armor  and  other 
curious  memorials  of  ancient  times ;  but  the  objects 
which  draw  and  rivet  attention  are  in  a  glass  case, 
which  encloses  the  suit  of  clothing  last  worn  by  the 
famed  author,  even  his  shoes  and  hat;  the  accoutre- 
ments of  a  tired  soldier,  who,  after  fighting  the  battle 
of  life  manfully  and  well,  had  surrendered  to  the 
power  of  death,  laying  aside  the  vestiges  of  his  human 
life  to  assume  the  brighter  garb  of  an  angel  of  light. 


MELROSE  ABBEY.  305 

MELROSE   ABBEY. 

Three  miles  from  Abbotsford,  in  the  village  of  Mel- 
rose, stand  the  ruins  of  the  famous  abbey  of  that  name. 
It  was  founded  by  David  I.  in  1136,  dedicated  to  the 
Virgin  Mary,  and  conferred  upon  the  monks  of  the 
Cistercian  order.  The  principal  portion  of  the  church 
remains,  but  a  part  only  of  the  roof,  and  that  over  the 
chancel ;  this  is  supported  by  groups  of  pillars,  whose 
pedestals  and  capitals  exhibit  the  finest  carvings  of 
flowers.  The  abbey  is  thought  to  present  the  noblest 
specimen  of  Gothic  architecture  and  sculpture  remain- 
ing in  Scotland ;  the  east  window,  facing  the  entrance, 
is  incomparably  fine,  a  model  of  architectural  skill  and 
beauty.  It  is  fifty-seven  feet  high  and  twenty-eight 
feet  broad.  Under  it,  where  probably  once  stood  the 
altar,  Alexander  II.  was  buried.  A  large  marble  slab 
covers  his  tomb.  Another  slab  designates  the  spot 
where  was  interred  the  great  heart  of  the  Scottish 
patriot,  King  Robert  Bruce.  An  unsuccessful  attempt 
had  been  made  to  carry  it  to  the  Holy  Land,  but  it  was 
eminently  proper  that  it  should  rest  in  the  soil  for 
which  it  bled  and  struggled  and  even  died ;  for  his 
death  is  said  to  have  resulted  from  his  early  hardships 
and  life  of  toil  and  exposure.  "  After  life's  fitful  fever 
he  sleeps  well"  within  these  beautiful  ruins,  with  Na- 
ture's pennons — the  graceful  tendrils  of  green  vines — 

14* 


306  WANDERING  THOUGHTS. 

floating  in  the  summer  breeze,  while  the  exquisite  win- 
dow above  forms  a  finer  headstone  than  any  modern 
monument  could  do. 

Patriotism  is  one  of  the  grandest  sentiments  of  the 
soul ;  one  of  the  most  liberal  of  affections ;  expansive 
in  its  sweep ;  magnanimous  and  unselfish  in  its  devo- 
tion. Demanding  as  it  does  an  entire  ignoring  of  per- 
sonal interest,  a  surrendering  of  all  one's  individual 
good  for  that  of  the  nation  at  large,  an  immolation  of 
self  upon  the  altar  of  one's  country,  it  must  evince  a 
nobility  of  nature,  a  depth  of  soul-power,  a  grand 
emotional  capacity,  and  a  breadth  of  mind  that  give 
to  the  world  the  noblest  "  assurance  of  a  man." 

As  long  as  there  is  so  much  of  petty  meanness,  not 
only  floating  on  the  surface  of  society,  but  clogging 
the  under-currents  of  life,  so  much  of  intense  selfish- 
ness apparent,  of  craving  and  clamoring  for  self- 
aggrandizement,  an  utter  yielding  often  of  the  whole 
moral  nature  to  trickery  and  corruption  in  political 
circles,  no  true  patriot  will  be  allowed  to  go  down  to 
his  grave 

"  Unwept,  unhonored,  and  unsung." 

.  We  believe  the  effect  of  these  renowned  ruins  to  be 
greatly  impaired,  if  not  destroyed,  by  their  contiguity 
to  other  and  very  inferior  objects.  The  abbey  is 
enclosed  within  very  high  walls,  ingress  being  obtained 


CARLISLE.  307 

by  personal  application  to  a  custodian ;  but  under  its 
very  shadow  are  a  hostlery  and  many  insignificant 
buildings,  occupied  by  the  humblest  class.  We  long, 
by  some  grand  Archimedean  lever,  to  remove  bodily 
these  sacred  ruins  to  some  spot  where,  aloof  from  all 
surroundings,  they  may  display  the  grandeur  which 
lies  within  their  splendid  columns,  picturesque  walls, 
and  fragmentary  cloisters. 

CARLISLE. 

Carlisle,  although  a  pleasant  old  town,  fails  to  tempt 
the  tourist  to  a  prolonged  stay,  its  beautiful  cathedral 
and  formidable  castle  alone  rewarding  detention.  The 
latter,  situated  on  an  elevation  which  commands  an 
extensive  view  of  the  surrounding  country,  is  so  truly 
a  vestige  of  feudal  times  as  to  be  of  great  curiosity  to 
visitors  from  the  New  World.  Its  origin  dates  back 
so  far  as  to  be  lost  in  obscurity,  but  it  is  probably  a 
stronghold  built  by  the  Romans.  Showing  no  signs  of 
decay,  but  in  its  impregnable  strength  seeming  to  defy 
the  world,  it  will  probably  stand  as  long  as  the  city  of 
its  founders,  and  when  "  Rome  falls,  the  world"  will 
fall. 

It  is  now  the  barracks  of  the  military,  and,  as  we 
happen  to  visit  it  at  the  hour  of  drill,  we  are  further 
edified  by  a  sight  which  always  quickens  a  timid 
woman's  blood  and  makes  her  shrink  back,  as  a  mar- 


308  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

tial  host  with  rapid,  impetuous  tread  advances,  obeying 
the  orders  to  u  shoulder  arms"  and  "  charge  bayonets." 
Gliding  past  the  soldiers'  ranks,  we  climb  to  the  ram- 
parts, from  which  we  enjoy  a  prospect  very  pleasing  iri 
its  wide  range  of  vision.  Our  minds  revert  to  those 
troublous  times  when,  during  the  wars  between  Eng- 
land and  Scotland,  this  border  town  and  its  fortress 
aiforded  refuge  and  security  to  the  affrighted  inhab- 
itants of  the  neighboring  country.  Mary,  Queen  of 
Scots,  is  said  to  have  stopped  here  while  fleeing  from 
Scotland. 

Leaving  this  grand  monument  of  olden  times,  we 
saunter  through  the  sunlit,  quiet  streets  to  the  majestic 
cathedral.  Entering  it  through  inviting  grounds,  pret- 
tily cultivated,  we  find  ourselves  in  a  vast  vestibule, 
which  forms  the  oldest  part  of  the  church,  dating  back 
more  than  a  thousand  years.  The  beadle,  of  imposing 
figure,  with  staff  of  office  ostentatiously  paraded,  pom- 
pously conducts  us  to  a  seat,  as  it  is  the  hour  of  morn- 
ing service.  We  form  part  of  a  very  small  audience, 
but  "  two  or  three  met  together"  for  the  early  prayer. 
Presently  the  reverend  form  of  the  dean,  bowed  with 
years,  white  locks  clustering  round  a  noble  head,  with 
evidently  dimmed  vision  and  with  faltering  step, 
enters,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  young  curate.  We 
think,  as  we  observe  him  in  absorbed  spiritual  exercise, 
attempting,  with  the  stammering  voice  of  age,  to  follow 


CARLISLE.  3Q9 

the  choral  service,  how  soon  it  must  be  that  his  tongue 
will  be  unloosed  in  heaven,  joining  in  the  wondrous 
melody  to  which  the  whole  nature  will  be  attuned  ! 
How  strange  a  thought  that,  aged  here,  bent,  decrepit, 
and  trembling  with  exhausted  strength  and  failing 
powers,  we  sink  helpless  into  the  arms  of  death,  to 
awaken  instantaneously  in  another  sphere  of  being, 
rejuvenated,  crowned  with  perpetual  youth,  with  facul- 
ties endowed  with  heavenly  wisdom  and  perception, 
soul  ethereal i zed,  voice  of  seraphic  harmony  ! 

We  turn  our  eyes  from  the  benignant  countenance  of 
the  aged  saint  to  the  younger  and  less  sanctified  faces 
of  the  minor  canons,  one  of  whom  conducts  the  ser- 
vices,— or  leach  them,  for  the  little  choristers  seem  to  be 
the  principal  ofnciators.  Young,  innocent  faces  most 
of  them  have,  many  of  them  singing  with  true  unction. 
As  they  stand  before  us  in  their  pure  white  robes,  with 
uplifted  eyes  and  serious  mien,  instinctively  our  thought 
wanders  in  imagination  to  the  vast  throng  of  infantile 
angels  around  the  throne  of  God,  continually  chanting 
praise  to  Him  who  said,  "  Suffer  little  children  to  come 
unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not,  for  of  such  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven." 

The  lofty  ceiling  of  the  cathedral  is  painted  in  sky- 
blue,  silvery  stars  dotting  its  surface.  The  oriel-win- 
dow of  stained  glass  over  the  pulpit  is  exquisite ;  the 
sun  shining  through  it  floods  the  interior  with  a  gor- 


310  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

geous  light,  in  which  are  blended  the  richest  colors, 
beautifying  a  white  marble  pulpit,  which  is  placed  on 
one  side,  as  a  memorial  to  Archdeacon  Paley,  who, 
having  been  a  native  of  Carlisle,  is  buried  here. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 
HOMEWARD    BOUND— OUR    SHIP— THE   VOYAGE. 

HOMEWARD   BOUND. 

To  the  American  who  has  turned  his  back  upon  his 
native  land  to  seek  the  almost  inexhaustible  pleasure 
which  is  to  be  found  in  foreign  travel,  that  variety 
which  meets  him  at  every  turn, — and  is  not  human 
nature  constantly  clamoring  for  novelty? — but  who 
at  length  feels  that  the  feast  must  end,  and  home  be 
sought,  to  him,  we  say,  the  words  homeward  bound, 
come  with  a  thrilling  sound. 

It  means  return  to  his  native  land,  which  seems  to 
him  now,  in  the  light  of  comparison,  more  than  ever 
the  most  desirable  of  all  lands,  for  although  our  re- 
publican form  of  government  still  presents  problems 
which  have  defied  astute  intellects  to  solve,  yet  he 
must  believe  it  to  contain  the  grandest  elements  ot 
national  glory.  And  when  time,  still  riper,  shall  have 
burst  the  shell,  throwing  off  the  husk  of  corruption 
which  has  impeded  the  rich  growth,  it  will  reveal  a 
germ  which  shall  contain  all  the  splendor  and  renown 

that  are  possible  to  a  human  government. 

311 


312  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

It  means,  too,  a  return  to  a  Christian  Sabbath. 
What  more  refreshing  than  the  rest  of  that  day,  the 
air  only  broken  by  the  sweet-toned  church-bells? 
What  more  longed  for,  while  lingering  on  the  Conti- 
nent, than  the  calm  and  quiet  of  an  American  Sab- 
bath ?  What  a  contrast  to  the  Parisian,  where  the 
thud  of  the  hammer  falls  heavily  upon  the  ear,  while 
the  sound  of  fife  and  drum  penetrates  to  innermost 
chambers ;  scenes  of  revelry  and  sounds  of  mirth  con- 
stantly offending  and  jarring  upon  Christianized  sensi- 
bilities ! 

Homeward  bound  !  yes,  it  means,  too,  to  the  satiated 
traveller,  a  return  to  the  home,  which  has  no  equivalent 
in  the  French  idiom  or  experience. 

Home !  how  sad  it  is  to  think  that  he,  Payne,  who 
sang  so  sweetly  of  its  charms,  had  only  dreamed  of 
them,  and  knew  them  not  in  the  reality  of  his  own  life ! 
Let  us  hope  that  his  soul  has  found  a  haven,  on  the 
heavenly  shore,  of  such  blissful  rest  as  he  had  visions 
of  while  on  this  side  of  the  dark  river.  Home !  which, 
in  its  possible  happiness,  is  an  emblem  of  that  heavenly 
retreat  where  love  reigns  supreme,  and  where  joy  and 
peace  hallow  the  eternal  life ! 

What  enjoyment  has  not  the  traveller  experienced 
during  his  months  of  absence!  What  stores  of  rich 
facts,  what  multiplied  ideas,  what  enlarged  views,  has 
he  not  gained!     With    what   quickened   perceptions, 


> 


OUR  SHIP.  313 

ennobled  sympathies,  stimulated  intellect,  and  enkin- 
dled enthusiasm  has  he  not  returned  !  What  breadth 
and  depth  has  he  not  attained,  whose  arable  mind  and 
heart  were  prepared  to  receive  the  good  seed  which 
travel  sows  in  all  intelligent  and  receptive  natures? 

And  yet  we  have  met  some  who,  like  the  Peter  Bell 
of  Wordsworth's  creation,  have 

"  Travelled  here,  and  travelled  there, 
But  not  the  value  of  a  hair 
"Was  head  or  heart  the  better." 

We  believe  travel  to  be  a  great  educating  power, 
brightening  and  developing  the  intellectual  faculties, 
and  affording  material  for  future  contemplation  and 
mental  digestion.  What  panoramic  views  does  it  af- 
ford to  pass  before  the  mind  in  future  lonely  hours ! 
What  dazzling  memories  to  brighten  evermore  life's 
gloom !  Ever  faithful  to  our  mental  summons,  they 
shall  never  die,  but  fade  away  in  the  absorbing  glory 
of  Eternity,  even  as  stars  cease  to  twinkle  in  the  crown- 
ing light  of  day  ! 

OUR  SHIP. 

Those  who  have  not  been  voyagers  on  the  "  deep 
blue  sea"  often  have  the  impression  that  a  ship,  al- 
though grand  in  its  appointments  and  majestic  in  its 
proportions,  is  a  cumbersome,  unwieldy,  awkward 
power,  and  upon  their  first  introduction  to  one  their 


314  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

impressions  might  be  confirmed.  But  what  a  change 
would  be  wrought  in  them  during  the  first  hours  spent 
on  such  a  gallant  steamer  as  ours,  on  a  bright  day,  while 
the  brilliant  sun  is  touching  with  radiant  glory  the 
whole  surface  of  the  ocean,  the  fresh  breeze  making  of 
each  wave  a  "thing  of  life,"  and  all  the  influences  of 
the  elements  surrounding  us  being  peculiarly  propitious! 
With  what  novel  delight  do  we  watch  the  movements 
of  our  beautiful  ship,  now  sinking  in  the  deep  embrace 
of  the  proud  waters,  to  be  tossed  aloft  like  a  frolicsome 
child,  then  swaying  gracefully  from  side  to  side,  as  if 
to  court  and  then  recede  from  the  caress  of  the  dancing 
waves!  How  daintily  she  dips  her  prow  into  the 
crested  sea,  rising  sparkling  and  dripping  with  its  foam ! 
And  when  in  her  graver  moods,  the  elements  hushed, 
how  majestically  she  rides  upon  the  mighty  waters ! 

In  the  severe  gale,  "  when  the  waves  roar  and  are 
troubled"  and  lash  her  sides  in  fury,  she  sweeps  nobly 
on  her  course,  resisting  every  assault  and  outriding 
every  danger.  The  ocean's  mammoth  toy,  and  the 
ocean's  conqueror  too,  is  this  noble  ship  of  ours,  and 
when,  with  proud  mien,  spread  sails,  and  flag  unfurled, 
she  bears  us  into  port,  we  shall  reluctantly  bid  her 
adieu. 

Go  back,  mighty  ship,  to  thy  enamored  spouse,  the 
ocean,  safely  retracing  Ihy  steps  through  the  waves 
which  sport  upon  its  bosom. 


THE    VOYAGE.  315 

THE   VOYAGE. 

"  Ye  gods,  presiding  over  lands  and  seas, 
And  you,  who  raging  winds  and  waves  appease, 
Breathe  on  our  swelling  sails  a  prosperous  wind, 
And  smooth  our  passage  to  the  port  assigned. 
The  gentle  gales  their  flagging  force  renew ; 
And  now  the  happy  harbor  is  in  view." 

Virgil's  ^Eneid. 

Sea-sickness  differs  from  most  other  physical  mala- 
dies. When  under  its  influence,  the  poor  victim  is  ob- 
livious to  all  life's  joys  and  interests ;  the  ties  of  the 
heart,  even,  seem  relaxed ;  the  faces  of  absent  children 
and  loved  ones  may  flit  before  the  memory,  but  for  the 
first  time  they  fail  to  elicit  a  smile  or  to  awaken  a  thrill 
of  tenderness.  However  amiable  the  natural  disposi- 
tion, one  becomes  irritable  and  captious,  wonders  that 
he  ever  associated  pleasure  with  foreign  travel,  and,  if 
still  acknowledging  there  be  any,  thinks  it  like  gaining 
the  gates  of  Paradise  through  Hades  itself. 

That  there  is  no  alternative,  that  the  voyage  is  an 
inevitable  necessity,  are  facts  that  give  poignancy  to  his 
cry,  "Ten  thousand  furlongs  of  sea  for  one  acre  of 
barren  ground."  He  denounces  the  man  who  ever 
invented  food,  and  the  cook,  who  allows  the  transmis- 
sion of  its  odors  to  torment  his  senses,  and  the  waiters, 
too,  who  seem  to  have  formed  a  satanic  plot  to  announce 
its  presence  by  a  deafening  clatter  of  dishes. 


316  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

Can  he  ever  partake  again  of  home  cheer?  Will 
rarest  dainties,  even,  ever  again  tickle  his  palate  ?  In 
a  word,  shall  he  ever  eat  again  f  No,  it  cannot  be ;  he 
has  forsworn  food  for  evermore ! 

If  Nature  in  compunctious  pity  drops  the  dew  of 
sleep  upon  the  weary  eyelids,  it  is  but  a  short  respite : 
he  awakens  to  wretchedness,  for  he  is  to  retch  all  day. 

The  malady  is  one  which,  from  the  time  of  Noah 
and  his  probably  suffering  companions,  no  skill  has 
been  able  to  cure  or  even  assuage ;  indeed,  the  robust 
physician  in  the  next  state-room  may  be  as  completely 
prostrated  as  the  more  delicate  frame  in  our  own. 

But,  as  there  is  no  gloom  so  abiding  that  time  will 
not  dispel  it,  we  find  ourselves  awaking  some  bright 
morning  with  the  familiar  old  experience  of  hunger 
upon  us.  Can  it  be  that  coffee  has  suddenly  resumed 
its  grateful  aroma  ?  that  broiled  steak  and  baked  meats 
greet  once  more  our  olfactories  with  welcome,  savory 
odors  ?  Yet  so  it  is ;  the  truant  appetite  has  returned, 
and,  what  is  better,  "good  digestion  waits  upon  it." 
We  even  discover  a  great  impatience  for  the  summons 
to  four  meals  a  day,  and  make  no  delicately  feminine 
demands  upon  the  abundance  before  us.  The  love  of 
life,  too, — that  inherent  principle, — which  really  had 
succumbed  to  the  prevailing  physical  depression  of  the 
past  several  days,  has  resumed  its  old  sway,  and  the 
future,  which  so  lately  seemed  shrouded  in  midnight 


THE    VOYAGE.  317 

gloom,  is  now  arrayed  in  all  the  effulgence  of  glorious 
day.  Truly,  "  old  things  have  passed  away,  and  all 
things  have  become  new." 

We  believe  that  nowhere  is  social  pleasure  more 
keenly  enjoyed  than  at  sea,  after  the  change  has 
dawned  upon  all.  "  A  fellow-feeling  makes  us  won- 
drous kind  •"  we  are  a  little  band  separated  from  the 
rest  of  the  world,  with  naught  "  but  a  plank  between 
us  and  eternity ;"  knit  together  by  the  same  hopes,  the 
same  fears  ;  all  bound  for  the  same  goal,  a  port  of  the 
New  World,  yet  not  knowing  but  we  may  be  stranded 
upon  the  shores  of  Eternity.  There  seems  to  be  a 
universal  desire  to  dispel  all  depressing  thoughts,  and 
to  seek  in  innocent  amusement  to  while  the  time  away. 
Each  contributes  his  or  her  share  towards  the  general 
entertainment,  and  sweet  is  the  music,  droll  the  pan- 
tomime, sparkling  the  wit,  and  merry  the  laughter 
which  enliven  the  little  circle  congregated  each  even- 
ing in  the  cabin.  We  often  look  around  us  and 
ponder  upon  the  strange  scene.  We  are  in  mid-ocean  ; 
beyond  the  ken  and  reach  of  all  humanity;  midway 
between  the  Old  and  the  New  World ;  floating  over  a 
fathomless  element,  with  an  unlimited  expanse  of  sky 
above,  the  curtains  of  night  concealing  its  heaven- born 
light.  All  is  weird-like  around  us ;  the  dimly-lit  cabin, 
a  favorite  spot  for  lurking  shadows ;  the  swaying  of  the 
lights;  the  creaking  of  the  ship;  the  sighing  of  the 


318  WANDERING   THOUGHTS. 

winds,  as  if  deploring  their  lonely  banishment  to  the 
darkness  and  gloom  without ;  the  dash  of  the  waves, 
which  seem  always  in  restless  tumult,  their  monotonous 
music,  like  a  dirge,  filling  up  the  intervals  of  our  mirth ; 
while  the  sometime  roar  and  shriek  of  the  tempest, 
sweeping  above  and  around  us,  is  the  powerful  requiem 
of  Nature  for  the  dead,  over  whom  we  are  sailing. 

We  look  complacently  over  at  the  clergyman  oppo- 
site us,  hoping  that  he,  in  his  spiritual  calling,  may  be 
as  effective  to  save  as  "  the  ten  righteous  men"  for 
whose  sake,  at  Lot's  solicitation,  the  city  of  Sodom  was 
to  be  spared,  and,  congratulating  ourselves  that  there  is 
apparently  no  Jonah  on  board  to  endanger  our  safety, 
"  we  lay  us  down  in  peace  to  sleep,"  awaking  each 
morning  to  fresh  enjoyment  of  the  situation. 

We  find  that  one's  comfort  and  pleasure  on  ship- 
board are  largely  dependent  upon  the  character  and 
bearing  of  the  captain ;  indeed,  all  the  subordinates  seem 
to  take  their  cue  from  him,  and  as  "a  little  leaven 
leaveneth  the  whole  lump,"  so  his  graciousness  and 
uniform  politeness  seem  contagious  in  the  official  circle. 
We  are  fortunate  in  our  commander ;  like  him  of  the 
"  Nancy  Bell,"  he  is  a  "  captain  bold,"  but  we  trust  is 
not  reserved  for  a  similar  fate ! 

Of  "heroic  build,"  Captain  H.  seems  singularly 
adapted  to  the  responsible  position  he  has  so  long  filled ; 
not  puffed  up,  as  those  often  are  who  are  "  dressed  in 


THE    VOYAGE.  319 

authority,"  but  always  sustaining  a  resolute  dignity  of 
manner,  which  wins  our  confidence  in  him  as  com- 
mander, while  his  intelligence,  courtesy,  and  manliness 
of  character  claim  our  respect  and  regard. 

A  chivalric  nature  is  a  decided  requisite  to  a  captain's 
social  reputation.  A  bevy  of  clinging,  helpless  women 
hang  upon  his  word  of  cheer,  as  a  heavy  ship  drags 
upon  its  anchor,  and  are  equally  sustained  by  its  in- 
spiring weight.  Indeed,  so  trying  is  a  captain's  position 
made  by  the  wearisome  plaints  of  seasick  passengers 
through  demands  made  upon  his  assurances  of  safety 
by  nervous,  frightened  women,  and  sometimes  by 
womanish  men,  that  we  have  thought  his  character 
should  be  an  epitome  of  all  the  virtues  which  distin- 
guished some  of  the  Biblical  saints, — the  meekness  of 
Moses,  the  patience  and  endurance  of  Job,  with  the 
faith  and  eloquence  of  Paul,  upon  whom  was  imposed 
the  task  of  encouraging  the  crestfallen  crew,  saying, 
"  I  exhort  you  to  be  of  good  cheer  :  for  there  shall  be 
no  loss  of  any  man's  life  among  you." 

A  romance  at  sea  being  particularly  refreshing  and 
exciting,  we  are  glad,  after  becoming  fairly  embarked 
upon  our  voyage,  to  discover  that  we  have  the  germ  of 
one  within  our  midst.  All  are  on  the  qui  vive,  as  the 
whisper  grows  rife,  and  are  eager  to  learn  all  that  can 
be  gleaned  from  the  communicative  informant. 

To  go  back  a  little, — some  twenty-five  years  ago, 


320  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

a  young  Englishman,  of  good  family  and  position, 
but  whose  fortunes  he  must  himself  expect  to  carve, 
full  of  enterprise  and  laudable  ambition,  made  his 
arrangements  to  sail  for  America,  hoping  in  its  inviting 
fields  to  reap  a  rich  crop  of  wealth. 

But  there  was  a  drawback  ;  his  heart  had  been  given 
and  his  faith  plighted  to  a  noble  woman.  A  widowed 
invalid  mother  and  an  aunt  claimed,  as  she  thought, 
her  care,  and  with  much  suffering,  but  strong  in  cour- 
age, the  lovers  parted. 

Years  passed  before  the  mother  died,  and  soon  after 
the  beloved  aunt  became  a  bedridden  sufferer.  The 
lover  in  the  mean  time  had  planted  his  energies,  as  it 
proved,  in  a  rich  soil,  and  was  already  harvesting  their 
results.  He  wrote  to  his  betrothed,  urging  their  mar- 
riage, but  she,  pleading  her  aunt's  dependence,  accepted 
the  sacrifice  which  she  felt  Providence  had  imposed 
upon  her.  In  time  her  lover  married  another,  and 
continued  to  prosper,  while  the  noble  English  girl 
plodded  on  her  weary  way,  performing  her  duties  with 
a  submissive  cheerfulness  which  was  rewarded  by  the 
grateful  love  of  her  afflicted  relative. 

The  aunt  died,  and  after  some  years  a  rumor  floated 
to  the  ear  of  the  woman  who  had  sacrificed  her  youth 
to  duty,  that  her  quondam  lover  was  now  a  widower. 
Had  she  consulted  her  mirror  and  surveyed  the  effects 
of  time,  her  heart  must  have  failed  her.     She  would 


THE    VOYAGE.  321 

have  seen  that  the  slightness  of  youth  had  given  place 
to  an  unbecoming  rotundity,  that  all  grace  of  outline 
had  been  lost  in  unwieldy  proportions,  the  hair  tinged 
with  gray,  and  that  the  light  of  youth  had  faded  from 
her  eyes  through  years  of  watching  by  a  sick-bed. 

What,  then,  must  have  been  her  dismay  to  find  that 
the  lover  of  her  youth  was  on  the  ocean,  on  his  way  to 
see  her ! 

He  came.  A  quarter  of  a  century  had  failed  to  oblit- 
erate early  impressions;  Love  had  successfully  defied 
Time,  that  wrecker  of  beauty  and  freshness.  Was  it 
an  ideal  he  loved,  or  did  he  recognize  through  the  worn 
casket  the  brilliancy  and  purity  of  the  soul-gem  within? 
We  will  not  withdraw  the  veil  frOm  those  human 
hearts;  but  can  we  not  imagine  that  their  memories 
o'erleapt  the  chasm  of  years;  that  they  were  once 
more  young  and  revelling  in  life's  dreams  and  hopes  of 
happiness;  and  that  now,  purified  by  suffering  and 
chastened  by  the  discipline  of  weary  waiting,  they  are 
even  the  better  fitted  to  be,  each  to  the  other,  light,  joy 
and  support  down  the  path  of  life,  round  which  the 
evening  shadows  would  soon  begin  to  gather? 

Unable  to  comply  with  her  lover's  desire  for  an 
immediate  union,  she  promised  to  follow  him  to  his 
adopted  home  in  America  within  a  few  months.  Find- 
ing it  impossible  to  repeat  his  absence  from  a  large  and 
exacting  business,  with  rare  delicacy  he  sent  a  female 

15 


322  WANDERING    THOUGHTS. 

relative  to  England  to  act  as  convoy  to  his  bride-elect, 
who  is  here  on  the  steamer  with  us  !  A  short,  plump 
figure,  with  a  good,  kind  face ;  short  curls  dangling  on 
each  side ;  beaming  little  eyes,  which  will  soon  twinkle 
round  a  good  man's  hearth ;  and  presenting,  altogether, 
a  most  attractive  picture  of  a  lovable  old  maid. 

One  day,  while  sitting  by  our  side,  she  asks  if  we 
think  "  that  one  at  her  time  of  life  can  assimilate  to 
the  customs  of  a  new  country  and  succeed  in  feeling  at 
home  there/'  "Most  certainly,"  is  the  answer,  for 
"if  home  is  where  the  heart  is"  the  fact  is  assured. 
With  a  pretty,  unaffected  shyness  she  turns  towards  us, 
her  eyes  luminous  with  a  tearful  light,  and  murmurs, 
"  I  think  so." 

On  our  arrival  at  Philadelphia,  custom-house  officers 
are  forgotten,  politeness,  too,  we  fear,  in  the  universal 
desire  to  see  the  hero  of  the  drama  and  to  witness  the 
greeting  of  the  lovers.  But  curiosity  is  not  fully  grati- 
fied, for- the  meeting  is  consummated,  very  properly,  in 
the  retirement  of  a  state-room.  Presently  our  hero 
appears,  and  in  every  respect  proves  himself  worthy  of 
the  character.  Tall,  nobly  formed,  with  a  manner  of 
great  dignity;  hair  and  whiskers  quite  gray;  with  a 
face  so  full  of  benignity  and  character  that  we  all  feel 
that  our  friend  may  consider  her  happiness  assured  in 
confiding  it  to  his  keeping. 

As  we  drive  away  we  cast  back  a  hurried  glance, 


THE    VOYAGE.  323 

which  reveals  a  gentleman  bending  over  the  short  and 
ungraceful  figure  of  his  fiancee,  as  he  assists  her  into  a 
carriage,  her  appearance  contrasting  painfully  with  that 
of  the  distinguished-looking  man  at  her  side. 

Let  them  not  regret  that  their  youth  is  past,  for  the 
afternoon  and  twilight  of  life  may  be  sweeter  than  its 
morn  and  meridian.  To  be  sure,  the  energies  may  have 
somewhat  slackened,  the  blood  may  course  more  gently, 
and  the  emotions  be  less  vehement  in  their  impulses ; 
but  the  affections  of  the  heart  have  struck  deeper  root 
and  are  intensified  in  their  power.  There  are  faces, 
too,  furrowed  by  time  and  worn  by  the  friction  of  life's 
cares  and  anxieties,  below  which  the  heart  beats  as 
freshly  as  when  it  throbbed  within  a  youthful  breast. 


THE   END. 


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